


When Expecting Has Arrived

by moon_opals



Category: DuckTales (Cartoon 2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Gen, Humor, Old Married Couple
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-24
Updated: 2021-02-18
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:47:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 18,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27183340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moon_opals/pseuds/moon_opals
Summary: “Curse me kilts, I don’t know why I brought her along,” Scrooge grumbled.“Obviously, you needed someone to ice your back."The look he shot Louie appropriately chastised him. "Watch it, lad.""Too far," he chuckled nervously. "Sorry."--Scrooge and Goldie discover parenting doesn't end at 18. Sometimes, the waters pull in to the very beginning.
Relationships: Scrooge McDuck/"Glittering" Goldie O'Gilt
Comments: 63
Kudos: 114





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> After processing this episode, I wanted to write this story immediately. Obviously, that didn't happen. To those who are concerned, the main storyline won't change much. I just wanted young-old parents Scrooge and Goldie.

The Conquistador Inn was what the brochure advertised. A mediocre yet eloquent hotel with a starting price that was more than acceptable to Scrooge's bank account. If anything, the honesty was worth the money Scrooge spent on their rooms. However, room cost was the furthest from his mind as he maneuvered through the sea of young people filling the lobby. 

“Aw, come on, Uncle Scrooge. I’m sure these teens have had a very difficult academic year and deserve to blow off steam.”

Scrooge regarded his niece with a scowl. “At their age, I couldn’t blow off steam. I had to use it to run my Uncle Pothole’s steamboat because I had a job!”

Someone huffed irritably to his right. “Unless you’ve written a twenty-five page essay on the reproductive organs of the American Pekin due in less than twelve hours while working part time at Quarry, then I doubt your claim has any relevance.”

Scrooge glared at her but didn't comment. Whatever he wanted to say was pushed back for Huey.

“Aunt Opal, that’s just bad time management.”

"That and depression, Hubert."

“Wait, what?”

She paid no heed to Huey's inquiry. “Mr. McDuck, there’s complimentary water bottles near the pool.” She tugged on his sleeve, “You can relax for tomorrow.”

“Relax?” Scrooge snatched his sleeve back. “I’m Scrooge McDuck, and I don’t need to -,” but his boast was cut short the second lightning strike twisted his lower lumbar.

“Sure, Mr. McDuck.” Opal rolled her eyes. “Of course, you don’t need to ice your back, right?”

“Fine,” he spat. “Ice my back, will you? We’ll work on prep for tomorrow.”

Opal nodded self-assuredly and wheeled ahead, leaving Scrooge with the kids. 

“Curse me kilts, I don’t know why I brought her along,” he grumbled.

“Obviously, you needed someone to ice your back."

The look Scrooge shot Louie appropriately chastised him. "Watch it, lad."

"Too far," he chuckled nervously. "Sorry."

Scrooge inhaled tightly, forgetting his nephew's rudeness. Besides, Louie was right. Going on an adventure in his state was ill advised. The thought of wasting an afternoon near a pool while his personal assistant tended his aching back was one he didn’t want to realize.

“It seems it can’t be helped.” He grabbed his luggage with a grunt, stalking to the pool. “You’ve got a free afternoon for a fresh start tomorrow. Do not disturb me.”

* * *

Goldie waited, and she waited. She waited much longer than she normally would've. At this point, she'd take to seeking him out personally, but she knew they'd appear, eventually. What mattered to Goldie was arriving at the initial destination first. Checking that off her to-do list was a consolation.

She teased the drink on the table, observing the chaos adjacent in the pool. She couldn't remember a time when teens were so rambunctious, loud and disruptive. In truth, she didn't have any room to complain. Hadn't she been young once upon a time? Still, looking at their ignorant faces free of wrinkles but still suffering the effects of acne annoyed her.

“Pool floating showboaters." She brought the straw to her beak, ready to drink and returned it to the table with a soft clink. 

The Star of the North's Blackjack Saloon housed worse than what this hotel offered. She drank, brawled and smoked better than the worst of them, and she usually, when the getting was good, pilfered better than the best of them. Soapy attested to that. Somehow, these teens and their partying grated her nerves. Their shouts made her ears ring. Falling back in the chair, she puffed her frustration, drawing an uncomfortable conclusion.

Only an old person would find teenagers annoying. Was she old? 

Good thing she was on a hunt for a fountain of youth. Tucking her wrist into her cheek, she propped her elbow on the table. “He better have gotten eaten by an alligator or something,” she complained. “To keep a lady waiting like this is rude.”

“Aren’t you a little old for spring break?”

The speaker sounded younger but not young. No, they hadn't fit in this scene for some now. The texture of their voice reminded Goldie of freshly rolled dough that was about to suffer a most uncomfortable flattening, except the rolling pin rolled all the fun out of their soul. So, she turned towards the voice and recognized a face she knew well. In fact, she was contributed a substantial amount into making that very face.

"Nugget," she cooed, crossing her arms across the table. She searched her features for any telltale signs, feeling a twinkle in her eye when she spotted several. "Yikes, kid," she inhaled sharply, teeth touching. "You need spring break more than I do."

Her smirk smothered in gold challenged her kid's opal crested glare. Goldie sensed the much younger woman's muscles tightening in agitation.

“That’s rich coming from you.” Opal pushed back the only way she knew how. “Don’t worry, the chlorine will wash out the hair dye. I’m pretty sure your strawberry blonde has gone grey.”

Goldie choked on her breath, and her nostrils flared briefly. Cupping the side of her hair, she pulled a few strands to make sure the color was the same lemony blonde she saw in her reflection earlier that morning. To her relief, her hair hadn't caught up with her age, and she sighed, relieved. It her like a baseball to her stomach at what happened, and she returned to Opal, who was standing there with a grin on her face.

"We should've never sent you to public school." She grimaced at the memory, rolling her shoulders to get the cricks out. "That political science teacher of yours put crazy ideas in your head."

"He was my chemistry teacher." Opal massaged her temples. Goldie knew what the gesture indicated. Her daughter was more annoyed that she couldn't remember some high school teacher she most likely hadn't spoken to since graduation. She chuckled, finding the entire situation hilarious for reasons she knew weren't entirely appropriate.

“Goldie O’Gilt.”

Grounded back into reality, their heads swiveled to the pair standing behind Opal. After a moment of surprise, Goldie’s eyebrows lowered, and she smirked. Her prize had finally arrived, and most importantly, her tedious conversation had reached its conclusion. She sidestepped Opal, winking at the indignant scoff and sauntered to the person she wasted the better part of the afternoon waiting for. 

“No, no, no, no.” Scrooge shook his head on the last no. His grip on his cane tightened as she marched triumphantly towards him.

“Oh, yes.” She swung her arms freely. “Yes, yes, yes, yes.”

“What are you doing here, you savings-swindling swine?”

She crossed her arms. Amusement burned brightly in her irises. “Definitely not jumping your claim to the fountain before you.”

Of the group, Webby’s distress was most apparent.   
  
“That’s...it’s…you...” she paused in between words, unable to articulate the injustice eloquently. “That’s cheating!”

Goldie ruffled her hair playfully. “No, I’m sure this is what your uncle calls working smarter while working harder.”

Scrooge glared at Goldie while Opal glared at both. 

“You knew to wait for us.” Opal tilted her head. Suspicion gleamed in her stare. “How?”

“What?” Goldie goaded. “You think I’ve got a tracker on you or something?”

Opal thrust a thumb at Scrooge. “On him? Probably,” she said. “Unless you had a…,” she trailed off. Her brow crinkled in a straight line. “You’ve got Finch’s journal, don’t you?”

As if waiting for the question, which she was, Goldie procured the journal from her purse to wave mockingly at Scrooge’s sweaty jaw drop. “Your nephew really needs to hold onto his hat.” She slipped the journal back into her purse, leaning forward to tip Scrooge’s hat over his eyes.

“And you need to hold onto yours.”

Goldie’s timer was set the moment she decided on this adventure. Theirs started when Scrooge’s eyes met hers. Her plan was devised hastily with enough foresight to calculate his responses. He didn’t know when her ploy was going to drop but knew he’d have to be ready for it.

As Goldie predicted, he wasn’t.

“Hey!” She pointed at Scrooge as she shouted to the spring breakers. “The old guy is giving away free t-shirts!”

Spring breakers rushed at them with abandon. Free often got people moving, and multiple hands crowded around them, reaching for the bounty they believed they were entitled to. Scrooge realized there was one way to escape Goldie’s trap.

She glided to the entrance with her ponytail riding along her upper back. She clutched the edge of the door window, pausing briefly to spare Scrooge a grin he didn’t get to see.

Goldie disappeared as she appeared, inconspicuously.

He flung his luggage to the crowd. A flurry of red coats popped out of the trunk; they grabbed greedily. Desperate for freedom, they fell on their knees and crawled in a small space to the edge of the crowd.

They sprinted out the door. Time was of the essence.

“What about the boys,” Webby cried. She searched the stairs in hope of seeing them, but Scrooge grunted a sharp reply.

“No time.” He led the chase. Was it frustration or excitement that pounded in his ears? With Goldie, it was probably both. “If Goldie beats me to that fountain I’ll have to hear about it for the next hundred years.”

“Is your pride that petty?” Opal groaned to his left.

“I raised you,” he replied breathlessly. “You know better to ask such a thing.”

Running into uncharted territory in pursuit of a con artist wasn't the best place to convince his family he wasn't that petty, but Scrooge's intuition told him his deflection had convinced them the answer was unequivocally yes. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Opal was twelve when her parents split.
> 
> Over Scroogeopoly.
> 
> Life was never the same after that, and she made sure to never let them live that down.
> 
> Impending drowning be damned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In our defense, we released the chapter before Nevada released their election results. Yay?

Opal was twelve when her parents split.

 _Split._

What an ugly, nasty word to describe their separation. Alas, that was the truth. Opal remembered vividly. It all started with America's favorite afternoon pastime, Scroogeopoly; it was the game dedicated solely to glorifying capitalism's morally depraved ethics. Or that was the mindset Opal kept silent. The last thing she wanted was to give Daddy an aneurysm, but Opal had others reasons to keep her beliefs hidden. She hadn't begun to dislike her mother just yet. She had, sadly, begun to understand her less than admirable habits.

Like cheating at Scroogeopoly.

“Goldie,” Daddy spat. “You owe me $200.00 for rent! You landed on Kilmotor Hill.” He slammed his miniature top hat on the game board. The thud was soft but quaked amongst the three of them.

Mommy scoffed. “I didn’t land on Kilmotor Hill,” she said in a cool, flippant tone. Opal recognized that tone. Alluring, seductive - yes, she was twelve, not sheltered - the tone was bait to distract while her quick handed turned their heads so sharply guessing what happened was beyond them. 

“What in the world?” Scrooge glowered. Knowing something happened didn't explain how it happened, and that was what Scrooge wanted. An explanation, but Goldie would never tell. She sat there smugly, proudly, and shimmied her shoulders suggestively. 

“I told you." She grinned, tilting her head to the side. "I don’t owe you $200.00 for rent. You owe me $350.00 for landing on the Blackjack Saloon.”

“I will never pay, you lasciviously licked landlord.”

Mommy smirked. Her finger and thumb formed a hook near her mouth. "Coming from the world's most extravagant landlord, I'll take that as a compliment." She winked.

“I pay my tenants honestly."

"Honestly?"

Opal sat in the middle, stuck, as if she was in the eye of the hurricane. Arguments usually devolved into barbed insults. Having known each other for so long, they knew many secrets and tells, both of which Opal wasn't privy too. As any child would be, she was grateful, though it was only a matter of time before her mother turned venomous. 

"I can't stand it." Goldie threw the fake money across the board. Her chest heaved, and her cheeks were splotched with rage. "Let's end this. Let's call it quits. Split it up, Scroogey. It's a game for Bark's bark!"

Children weren't entitled to the layers of their parents' lives, let alone relationship. Opal certainly knew and respected her place in her parents' lives, but what remained clear to her on that day, during that stupid game, was the objective shock in her father's face. Electricity must've taken hold of him for his shoulders spiked, and a painful, shaky breath shuddered free.

He thought she didn’t see. Honestly, if Opal was being objective, she'd say any cognitive recognition had eluded him. Her mom had broken a sacred rule all committed relationships adhered to. "Don't use separation as an intimidation tactic."

Splitting up was throwing recklessly. Carelessly. Used in pettiness rather than sincerity. An empty threat was lighter than a feather. Held no substantial weight, except for the pain stacked on her daddy's spine, and Goldie was good at causing pain, whether she was aware or ignorant of it. Opal watched an ember of thorns crown his irises in shock. His mind couldn't accept this assault and immediately set course on a counter attack. _Anger._ Anger was malleable and continued their argument without ceasefire or Goldie being non the wiser.

Or Opal wanted to believe that. Ignorance, she understood, was easily corrected. All her mom needed was to know how much she hurt her dad, and once she did, maybe they could set things on a more steady pace. But then again, Opal frowned, accepting ignorance would mean Goldie would have to accept her failings gracefully. She couldn't imagine her mom doing that. Goldie O'Gilt had brought an atomic bomb to a grenade fight, and she relished the advantage.

"It's up to me." It was obvious Duckworth wasn't going to get involved, and she didn't want him to. He was family, almost a second father, but this was between her and her parents. Glaring at the fake money scrawled across the board, snatch and thrown from their rightful places, Opal slide her fingers along the cool edge of the board. She looked to the left. Her mommy thrusted her finger into her daddy’s chest. She looked to her right. Her daddy waved his cane hotly. At that exact moment, she realized something. They'd never finish a solid game of Scroogeopoly. They never would, and that was how it was meant to be.

“I never like this game.” She squared her shoulders, braved the slight tremor in her chest and mumbled. An eddy of fake money and tokens were sent into the air. A distraction far more attention grabbing than Goldie's own, and successfully, she rerouted their anger into greed. They dashed for their fake money, griping at each other and suddenly, the momentum was gone. Bickering was what Opal could handle. For now, her daddy's pain was misplaced until her mom's nature reared its festering head when Opal wasn't around. It was inevitable, and there wasn't anything she could about it. She was only twelve. Yet, she was hopeful Scroogeopoly could retire to the attic where it belonged.

* * *

“I am going to make it to the fountain first!”

“Not if I get there before you!”

 _And Della said morning jogs were for old people,_ Opal scoffed in between pants. She'd show off her calves and posterior to her cousin later; for the time being, the present required her attention.

Webby compensated for the late start, leading the pursuit. Slower than her but faster than Scrooge and Goldie, Opal jogged in the center, spotting a fallen log ahead. She guessed they’d close the gap once Webby realized they hadn't caught up yet.

Until then, she was stuck with Scrooge and Goldie. Her parents. Her _constantly_ bickering parents. “All because Donald had a date with Daisy and Storkules.” Her happiness for her cousin's newfound love life didn't dissuade her frustration with her luck. Bemoaning her fate was second nature to her. 

“You’re cranky I beat you to the punch. Remember Scroogey, I’m always one step ahead.”

“One step ahead?” Scrooge laughed harshly. “You tracked my phone!”

“I did no such thing." Goldie huffed deeply. "This time.”

Scrooge scowled. “Then how did you find us, hm?”

Going on thirty-six taught Opal a variety of lessons, and one of the most important ones was the vitality of neutrality in the face of mercurial personalities. _Show no preferential treatment._ Both were terrible. To show favoritism would cause the loss of the advantage. Both sides would inevitably gang up against the opposing side. Somehow, in the middle of catching up to Webby, listening to them bicker and recalling a particular Scroogeopoly memory, her neutrality fissured. Her ability to withhold a biased stance faltered. Scrooge’s refusal to accept culpability in this century aged affair tipped the scales. _No._ They stole the scales, snapped in half and then tossed them into the swamp.

Opal did a u-turn. It was almost a perfect u-turn, if not for the sharp slide she did it, due to the muddy area. Nostrils flaring, saliva thickening, she spotted familiar brows and spitting tongues. Lost in each other, her approach went unseen. _Good_. Catching them off guard was rare, and she needed the confidence boost. Twigs snapped under boots, and the second she closed the gap, she rammed two fingers into Scrooge’s chest. His neck twitched, more out of resistance than anything else. His confusion gave way to a scowl.

“Opal, what do you think you’re doing?” 

His tone caught her off guard. Low, flabbergasted - the tone of a father ready to scold his rebellious daughter. 

“Nuh-uh.” She regained her nerve. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“What?”

Opal gritted her teeth. “You told her,” she hissed darkly, "you told her we were going after the fountain. You told her where to find us.”

“Have you gone mad,” Scrooge exclaimed, “it isn’t any of your concern what I did and didn’t tell her.”

“Oh, please. Look at where we are.” She blurted in a quiet shriek, clawing her hands in a half pleading gesture. “You’re tougher than the toughies, smarter than the smarties and sharper than the sharpies, but for some reason, you’ve let her string you along for more than one hundred and twenty years.” She snarled an inhale bent in frustration. “And the worst part is you’ve included me in your masochism tango. Me, a kid you had only because you forgot to put on a condom. Smart move, _so_ sharp.”

“Our relationship is not yer business.” He pushed back. Anger thickened his accent, giving it a blood curdling snare. “We don’t have to explain ourselves to you. You're a child, a feckless child.”

Tension ballooned throughout her head. Her lungs started to burn. He hadn’t used this tone since she was a child; and even then, she couldn’t remember what she’d done. A small voice in the back of her brain warned her to desist. She said her piece. But her mouth refused to close. Shadows clouded their blank expressions.

“Not my business? I’m standing in a swamp while you chase over a dead woman’s fountain.”

“Isabella Finch isn’t some dead woman.” He snapped harshly. “I don’t know what’s gotten into you, Opal, but it ends _now_.”

“I don’t get it.” She shook her head helplessly. Pressing her palm to her forehead, she blinked furiously. Tears danced along her lower eyelids. “Why do you do this to yourself, Scrooge? Why do you keep taking her back when she doesn’t love you enough to at least try to change, huh?”

His expression was like sourdough mold festering in a mason jar. So repulsed, struck and offended. “That’s our business.” He roared stiffly, acutely aware Webby was nearby. “And you’ve got no say in our relationship, Opal. Do not think you know more than you do. You've gone mad, lass.”

Opal looked. “Mad?” She snorted, eyes rolling. “I haven’t gone mad. I think,” she rolled her finger in a circle, ending it with a point to her chest, “I’m the only one sane here.”

Goldie scoffed. “Debatable.”

“Oh, right.” Opal tossed her head to the side. “Yeah, sure, like I'm going to listen to the woman who loves gold over her own family. I'm sure that's worth its weight in gold."

A sharp film of breath flew out of Golide’s mouth. Genuine shock and hurt compressed the age lines cornered near her eyes and mouth. For a moment, just a brief moment, Opal felt guilty. She felt really guilty; she'd never spoken to her mother like that. Their arguments were more like spats. Quick bursts and short lived, and they'd probably send awkward text messages a month later to ensure the other was alive. Whatever Opal played was on a different level. Wanting to keep hold of her anger, Opal kicked at her guilt.

“Enough.”

Scrooge’s voice cracked like thunder, echoing at their feet. Cranes took flight at the ferocity. Opal flinched, stepping back as he stepped forward.

With a glower he never used on her, Scrooge fixated Opal in place. “Opal Prudence McDuck, I don’t know what’s gotten into you,” his head shifted to the left, pronouncing the glare as light trimmed over his bifocals, “but you will not speak to or about your mother that way.”

If she hadn't felt like child then, Opal certainly did now. Her bottom lip trembled. Her shoulders touched her earrings to push back the tears already formulated, but she refused to avert her sight or wipe her eyes. Looking away wasn't an option he'd allow, she sensed, and she was correct in that. He wouldn't have.

“Scrooge.” Goldie sounded far away, too far away. She stepped closer with an outstretched hand. "It's fine."

"It isn't." His reply sneered reassurance, but softened abruptly for her. He lowered his gaze, too stubborn to meet her eyes. "We know it isn't."

Again? All her mom ever had to do was touch his shoulder, say his name, and he melted. He always melted. No matter what she did. She was mind-boggled by the concept and infuriated at witnessing its effects again. Irritation braved her tongue, and she spat the only thing she could think of in that moment, even if it didn't give her the same edge he'd showcased seconds before. “You’re only a poor old man.”

She spun on her heel, hearing Webby's question echo. 

She didn't look back. She didn't care if they never caught up.

* * *

“Ha, take that Goldie! We’re gonna beat her!” Webby made a perfect landing after a double flip. Resuming her pace, she checked over her shoulder to find Opal hopping off the log. “Hey, where’s Uncle Scrooge and Goldie?”

“They’re coming,” she said flatly pulling out a stainless steel water bottle, “give them a moment. Goldie has bad knees, and you know Mr. McDuck's back.”

Right on cue, they toppled over the fallen tree trunk. Sweat streamed down their faces as their pants heaved into humid air. Goldie stumbled forward, grimacing as she massaged her knees. Scrooge hobbled onward, gripping his cane while holding onto his lower lumbar.

“Bad knees?” His attempt to stand upright was thwarted when his back cracked loudly. His smirk quickly twisted in a pained grimace.

“Back problems,” Goldie panted.

“Not so bad I can’t best you,” Scrooge boasted. He struggled to move forward, but a fifth step released a groan of pain. He lurched forward, losing balance and landed on his stomach.

“Getting old is a pain in the keister.” Goldie stretched her back, trying to ease the pain knotted in the middle. "Literally.”

“Should we take a time out or..." Webby wasn't sure what to do in this situation. Her granny hadn't yet begun to confront the challenges of being old, but based on Webby's calculations, her granny wasn't nearly as old as Scrooge and Goldie. 

“I just need some water.” Scrooge rasped.

Goldie procured a canteen from her satchel. “Too bad you don’t have any.” 

Scrooge glared at her gluttonous consumption. 

“Oh, please, I stole this water from the hotel fair and square.”

Webby’s brow curled in confusion. “I thought there were complimentary water bottles.”

“Complimentary?” Goldie snorted aloud. “Who told you that?”

Webby glanced at Opal, who blushed, and realized with all the embarrassment of a child sneaking a cookie out of the cookie jar that she'd been caught red handed. But before she had a chance to explain, Goldie's laughter barked gleefully.

“Shut it." Opal gasped. She closed the top to her bottle and glared. “I was not going to pay $1.99 for a single bottle of water.” She motioned to hers that was the size of at least four bottles. “This way I’m getting my money’s worth.”

Goldie made it clear Opal's explanation wasn't going to satisfy her. She clutched her sides, bending low as laughter heaved freely. “$1.99 is what your morals are worth.” Spit dribbled off the end of her beak; she clutched her head as she stood upright. “Oh, Nugget, darling, you stole.”

“Eugh.” Opal snarled. “You are making a scene.”

“In front of who?”

“In front of Webby!”

Goldie choked on laughter. “Okay, okay,” she inhaled, wiping the tears from her eyes, “just tell me this, ‘kay.” Rolling her neck mockingly, she swallowed another laugh. “How’d you get the water, Opal? Hm?” Her brow rose mockingly as if she already knew the answer. 

Opal’s beak pursed. Her browline fell flat as a rosy flush blossomed on her cheeks. “Well,” she cleared her throat, gripping the bottle tightly, “I may have cajoled the manager’s door into opening.”

“Impeccable irony of the irritable imp.” Goldie’s neck rolled back, and she faced Scrooge, her expression a distorted frame of delight. “Our daughter inherited my smarts! And here she was standing on her self righteous pedestal.”

“Curse me -,” Opal snapped her beak shut before the curse slipped out, “you are not going to compare stealing four and a half bottles of water to what you’ve done and are currently doing.”

“Oh, no. No, no, no.” Goldie shook her head. “Breaking and entering, darling.” She spread her arms as if to embrace her, but Opal stepped back.

“Did you even pay for your canteen?” With a shake of her head, Opal stomped off ahead with Goldie’s laughter nipping at her heels.

“Welcome to my level, honey,” Goldie cackled, curling her hand around her beak for a louder effect. As Opal’s figure grew ever more distant, she pressed a hand to her chest and smiled. “I’ve never been prouder of her. A true thief in the making.”

Still on a bent knee, Scrooge caught his breath. “Aye, hypocrisy aside, the lass made a point.”

“Oh?” Goldie glanced at him. “What is it?”

“You stole that canteen from me on Oak Island in ‘73.” Strength regained, Scrooge pushed to his feet and lunged for the canteen. Instinctively, Goldie reeled back, stretching her arm to keep it out of his reach, but he was faster and managed to grip its side, tugging it towards him.

“I took it as payback after that bridge snapped and _you_ let me fall.”

“You cut the bridge!”

“Wow, you two have so much history.” Webby observed their struggle awkwardly. She wasn’t sure how to approach this. Experience taught thieves weren’t to be trusted, but in the midst of fighting over a long stone canteen, Scrooge smiled. Or Webby thought it was a smile.

She was sure it was.

“Aye, full of betrayal.” Goldie’s grip slipped, and he snatched the canteen free. He gulped greedily, relishing in the water’s cool taste. 

Like a viper she struck, and the canteen was back in her grip. “Why stop now,” she grinned wryly. She directed the canteen at his face and squirted him, chuckling as she ran off on the same path Opal departed on.

“Oh, how cute,” Webby said dryly, pursuing them at a slower speed. “I can’t wait to get old.”

* * *

“It was only four bottles." Opal grumbled. “Well, four and a half.”

It was easier to resume her steady trot; the familiar burn of her lungs and upper thighs made the memories more bearable.

“And who misses water?” Four and a half bottles wouldn’t be missed. “But I’d miss the $9.95 plus tax!”

The thought of paying $9.95 plus tax made her skin crawl. Worse, it was like spiders nestling in her feathers, but she didn't have time to cringe at the imagery. Footsteps hurried in her direction, and she remembered time wasn't a luxury she could afford. “What the hell.” She groaned, looking over her shoulder. "Aw, feathers."

They were faster than they were earlier and ten times more determined. Shoulder to shoulder they shoved and pushed, aiming to knock the other off balance.

“Are you serious?"

"Yes!"

“I can’t believe this.” But she could and did. Soon, their steps were on rhythm. Her shoulder pushed into Scrooge. “Can you not argue for one moment? Is it really that hard? Is this your foreplay?” 

“Is that a question you really want an answer to.” Goldie grunted. “I mean, are you sure you want to know?”

“It was rhetorical!”

Scrooge’s arms struck out. They came to an abrupt stop, each grabbing an arm reflexively. Their heads shifted below where roaring currents splashed below. This was a temporary break. Goldie saw a fallen log that doubled as a bridge across the cliff. Hungry to gain the lead, she paused, and after momentary confusion, he continued with a scowl on his beak. 

“Wait.” Opal cried. “It isn’t stable.” She chased them onto the log despite her gut feeling telling her not to. 

“You worry too much.” Goldie shouted, tossing her hair over her shoulder. A wolfish grin had settled on her face. “It’s fine, don’t -,” but she didn’t get to finish her sentence. The log shifted, sliding downward and suddenly fell.

Heart caught in her sternum, Opal felt it plummet right after. Her feet rolled in motion to the log. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Goldie bend forward, rubbing her knee in pain. Scrooge must've seen it too. The smirk he wore was devious. 

“How are our knees holding up?” 

Goldie grunted. Quickening her feet, the roll accelerated, and Scrooge wasn’t able to meet the spike's speed. His back cracked painfully, and he yelped pitifully.

“Better than your back.” She replied snidely.

“The fountain is so close. Don’t let her get under your skin,” Webby cried above, running at her fastest.

“Yeah, don’t let me get under your wrinkly old skin, Scroogey.”

“I told you so.” Opal shouted over the waves. “Why can’t you listen?”

“We’re quite finished listening to you,” Scrooge retorted harshly, “are you going to berate us some more?”

“Are you going to charge children for Halloween candy again?”

“I did not charge them for the candy,” Scrooge protested. “I charged them admission onto the property.”

“You’re such a hypocrite. You’ve always talked about your poverty as a child and didn’t once consider many of those kids also came from low income families? What is wrong with you?”

Scrooge scoffed. “Funny, is this coming from the freeloader living under my roof, eating my food and using up my wifi?”

“It called WiFi, you morally mislaid malady.” She screeched, shoving Scrooge in the chest. Regret was instantaneous, compressing her heart the second she felt them thrust forward. Immediately, she reached for him, seeing he was falling back without anything to hold onto, and was relieved, if only a little, to notice the gesture was reciprocated. What followed, however, Opal couldn't say. So many things occurred in that instance. It was impossible to remain on the log after what she'd done. She slipped, falling into him, and something hook around her waist, trying to pull them back in. But they were dragged down. 

Cold water surrounded her. Neither the best or worst swimmer, Opal knew navigating the streams wasn't beyond her capability. Yet, every time she pushed her arms to the surface, the further the sun’s light became. It didn’t take her long to realize the bulb of light was fading quickly, receding into darkness.

"Great, this is how I'm going to die." Opal lamented, struggling against rapid currents.

Only a second later did all cohesive slip into nothingness. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> donaldtheduckdad was kind enough to draw not one but TWO illustrations for this chapter. I didn't even know about Little Opal and the Scroogeopoly travesty until she dropped it on me. Extra thanks to her. She's amazing.
> 
> As always, feedback is appreciated!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scrooge and Goldie get to relive every parents' dream...
> 
> But at what cost?

“Uncle Scrooge, Opal!” Webby ran ahead, beating the current. “And Goldie too, I guess.”

She maintained a steady speed and watched them below. Goldie’s bangs and Scrooge’s hat floated above the waves. She took it as a sign of life if nothing else. But where was Opal? She didn't see anything from her aunt; no scarf or ponytail. "She really should've worn a hat."

Ahead, the log they fell off rolled along the surface. More determined than ever, Webby accelerated, taking deep breaths seconds before she leapt off the edge. 

She soared. Air swept under her hair, and she landed on the log. It trembled underneath her, a warning it’s current location was temporary. She didn’t wait long to move to the next stage. She eyed the soft patch of land adjacent and stiffened her muscles; she moved with a fairy’s dexterity. 

She leaped from one to another and landed perfectly on the other side, right as the cannoli coiled bangs and hat tore through the river’s surface.

Scrooge and Goldie clawed their way onto solid land. His hat crowned his head, pushed down to where he couldn’t see what was in front of him. Goldie’s hair was completely undone, and dense rolls of blonde hair veiled her face. 

Goldie whipped her hair back. It smacked her back, dripping wet. A sharp squeeze dried Scrooge’s hat, and they raised their heads, meeting the other’s gaze. Smiles drew crescents on their faces. 

“Bless me bagpipes,” Scrooge gasped.

“Great gobs of goblin spit,” Goldie swooned.

“You’re young.” They shouted in union, relief flooding their youthful voices. 

The results were instantaneous. Gone was the debilitating pain in Scrooge’s lower lumbar. His cane was now an ornament attesting to an age he’d outgrown. Goldie tested her knees and guffawed at the ease. No creaks or cracks or full aches. She could jog without pain.

Webby stood, jaw dropped and eyes wide. Speech fled in shock. She knew what she looked at was real. They were young, very young; smooth, iron tight skin, straight backs and less than raspy vocalizations pinned their physical age to late teens. Late teens! She couldn't believe it, but she had to.

“Wait.” Webby realized something was wrong. Someone was missing. “Do you hear that?”

Goldie threw her hair over her shoulder. “What,” she laughed. “The sweet silence of young knees.”

“Uh, no,” Webby deadpanned. “It sounds like a…” She frowned, straining to hear to her right. She walked towards where the sound seemed to strengthen, pushing away blades of grass and shoulder broad leaves. “It sounds like a baby.”

Scrooge scoffed. “Ack, it’s probably Opal. She fell too.”

Their mutual joy turned to mutual horror. Scrooge and Goldie paused, looked to the lazy stream and then to Webby, who stood there with a more than worried expression. Hisses congregated deeply in the swamp, and they were too far away to identify any of the wildlife whose territory they'd thoughtlessly entered.

"What...," Goldie swallowed thickly, trying her best to measure the terror in her voice, "what do you think those other sounds are?"

Webby scoffed, forgetting the reason behind the question. "Well, Florida is one of the alligator capitals in the world," she laughed encouragingly, then stopped and turned in their direction, "oh, oh, that's bad. That's really bad."

Their hearts dropped like a piano from a ten foot building. 

"Opal!"

Webby jumped and was surprised in the moment of moving at how quickly her heart leapt to her throat. As she caught her breath, their high octaves echoed amongst the treetops, and she realized she was standing alone in a swamp. A Florida swamp. They'd dashed into the swamp's foliage without looking back.

She was never the type to fall into pessimistic thinking. With a smile, she sighed.

"Better than getting lost in the Pyramid of Toth-Ra." 

* * *

Her cries grew sharper, shriller and evermore desperate the longer she was left alone.

Scenario after scenario taunted them. She hadn’t drowned, but this was Florida, the alligator capital in the country, or so Webby claimed. Who was to say how accurate the claim was? What mattered to them was that today was the worst time to test it. An infant was a tender, succulent and prime appetizer for an apex predator. Goldie shook her head. Anxiety wasn't going to save Opal; what she needed was an attentive, focused and unified front. Only after Opal was found safe and not a second before could Goldie relieve her fears. 

It was that thought, the thought of safety, that Goldie heard something. Wait. She stopped, jogging in place, circling the area. It's quiet. 

“Why did she stop crying?” Terror clenched her potential screech, and a thinner rope of self restraint lubricated her vocal chords. She found Scrooge a little way ahead. He ran faster than her, fists clenched and brow set identically. “Scrooge, why isn’t she crying?” 

“I don’t know.” He squawked weakly. Cupping his hands, his cry echoed. “Opal darling, where are you?”

He swung to the left, slipping through a curtain of willow leaves. A squeal shattered the silence. Goldie quickened, tearing at the stringy leaves and stumbled into a conclave. In the between moments, she imagined what her life would be like going forward, being a mother and suddenly not being a mother. But she didn’t have to worry about that. A soft tweet flew ahead. She chased after it, recognizing the smooth, brown head, yellow gaze and brown freckled bosom. Skidding to the stop, her heart ceased its convulsions. She rubbed tears out of her eyes, concentrating her sight on the sight she'd stumbled upon.

“Me bonny lass,” Scrooge cooed, raising Opal to his face, "what have you gotten into?" Their laughter orchestrated a joyous harmony.

Goldie blushed. She hadn't meant for it to happen but heat radiated. He spun Opal around. Her fingers forgot the worm she found, reaching for Scrooge's beak. It flopped on the dirt and sunk away, grateful to have escaped a slimy demise. Goldie's relief elevated. Inducing a baby to spit up a mushed up worm wasn't easy, and Goldie wasn't in the mood to try.

“Da.” She clasped her palms around his face when he brought her close enough. “Da, Da.”

“That’s right, me wee bairn.” Tears marbled his accent, though they didn’t fall. “I’ve missed you so.”

Goldie stood there, helpless. Admiring a sight she hadn't seen in what felt like was thirty seven years, she knew disturbing in any way the scene was a criminal offense. His gaiety was contagious; the lightness in her chest too much for her to withstand. 

“Baby Opal!”

Goldie dropped the hand pressed on her chest and felt the blood drain from her cheeks. She could smack the person responsible and remembered immediately that it was Webby. She cringed at her overwhelming excitement, but fortunately, she didn't get a chance to complain. The kid ran to Scrooge, clutching her face as she doted in Opal.

“I never knew she used to be so cute. Well, I did. I found old baby photos, but it’s different when it’s up close and personal.” She pressed her face to Opal’s. “Hi, I’m Webby!”

“Bebe,” garbled. Curiosity filled her eyes. Then she turned her head, and her beaming brightened. “Ma!”

Scrooge followed her gaze. “I found her,” he boasted, offering her the squirming child. “She must’ve crawled to shore.”

Goldie smirked. Of course, getting him to admit her contribution to their daughter’s survival was like pulling teeth out of an alligator's mouth. “Or she swam to shore and crawled up,” Goldie corrected. She crossed her arms and winked at Webby. “I enrolled Opal in baby swimming lessons, which I may remind you were ardently against.”

“It was $30.00.”

“Hey!” Goldie barked. “I endured a pack of mombies for several weeks teaching our kid how to swim. You ought to be grateful.”

It was true. She sent approximately forty-five minutes to an hour with first time moms and moms who’d dedicated every waking second to their bundles of joy; Goldie thought she was going to lose whatever remnants of sanity Opal hadn’t claimed during her colic nights. However, Goldie confessed the tips she acquired were invaluable. 

Like pressing the baby onto your chest during late nights or a little drop of mammal milk mixed with avian milk would soften the texture, making it easier to digest. Goldie had needed that, more than she dared to admit to Scrooge or anyone else, so while irritation click clacked tap-danced across her forehead, Goldie crossed her arms. Her beak tilted upward, the silent dare was present; let him try to protest her past endeavor’s curren usefulness.

Scrooge’s beak churned as if he’d drank sour milk. With a scoff, he looked away, and Goldie’s laugh rang triumphant. But it was as she chortled that she noticed Opal’s blouse at Scrooge’s feet. An idea came to her. Snatching it off the ground, she stretched it wide, wrapping the baby in it.

“Any injuries? Did you see a bump on her head?” She searched her head for any blemishes or knots. “I don’t want her getting sick. We’re too far from the hotel or any clinic.” Her questions were quick, to the point and not entirely surprising, but they did what they were made to do, catch him off guard. His earlier protests thinned along with his irritation. 

“She’s fine. A little damp but no harm done.” He caressed her head, smiling affectionately. “A strong one she is.”

“Always was,” Goldie concurred. Makeshift carrier completed, she bent to Scrooge’s chest where Opal babbled incoherently. “I forgot how cute she was, before all the teen attitude and sass.”

Opal babbled gleefully, reaching for Goldie’s face. “Mama,” she hummed happily. She patted Goldie’s cheeks, and she felt her heart flutter again. It'd been doing that a lot lately, fluttering and skipping beats. Soon, she guessed she'd be dealing with palpitations. It was hard to swallow that this was the same person who had berated them so rudely earlier.

“Yeah, nugget, Mama’s here.” Her cheek snuggled hers. Goldie marveled at the softness of her feathers, thinking back to the days she’d spend hours brushing them. 

When she looked up, Webby was standing there, clutching Scrooge’s cane and wearing his hat. She quivered, on the edge of tears and pressed the cane close to her heart.

“My heart is full. It's so full.” She laughed tearfully. "I never thought you could be so cute!"

Goldie blushed for reasons she wasn’t sure of. Slowly, she resumed a normal position, straying to the stream. Scrooge’s attention fell in line, and with a single glance, they drew the same conclusion.

“The stream must be fed by the fountain of the youth. If we follow it, we’ll find it’s source. Do you know what this means?” Scrooge slid an arm under Opal, cradling her as she nodded off.

“Yep, beating you will be so much easier now.” Her finger slid across his beak mockingly, teasing that she'd already won the game before the finish line was set. She didn’t give him a chance to react; wanting to exacerbate her point, she gripped his hat and shoved it down, past his eyes. Laughing, she broke off into a sprint down the path to where the fountain waited for them. Scrooge tossed the hat off, letting it fall to the dirt crowding his feet. No scowl or frown or curse leapt from or out of his mouth. His beak curled excitedly, a grin hungry for the prize at the finish line along with the golden vixen that had cheated her way to a head start.

“Opal, me wee bairn,” he murmured sweetly to the babe, “ready to beat your mummy to the fountain?”

Her little bobbed up, and she blinked sleepily. “Mum,” she whined, annoyed. “Ma!”

“That’s right, dearie!” Scrooge chortled, renewing their chase. Freedom rolled off his tongue in a cunning chuckle that embraced her mockery in its arms. Hat was discarded in exchange for a youthful back and abundant energy.

“Hey, wait how,” Webby shouted, reaching for his forgotten item. “Wow, you are fast now!”

* * *

Stopping wasn't in their sights during their run. An hour run was surely possible for them, potentially hours if they paced their speed and breaths; certainly, fifteen minutes was now child's play. Scrooge’s lungs pumped vigorously, supplying oxygen necessary for this excursion. He was excited, alive in ways he hadn’t felt in more than a century.

Controlling his acceleration and decline was possible now, and he did so for Opal’s sake more than his own. But the babe didn’t complain in her carrier. She was wide awake, attention drawn to the wide cypress trees and muddied waters. His grin broadened at the sight for ahead, cleverly hidden from the rest of the world was the fountain they sought.

While he ran on one side of the stream, Goldie ran on the other. As his thick, bountiful and appropriately brooding bangs bounced against the wind, his neck turned across the stream. His eyelashes fluttered dreamily in the waning sunlight, but his breath twisted in his lungs the second he laid eyes on her.

Lemon swirled in a reel above her back. Her hair’s sheen rebirth enticed with its shimmer, but the eyes was where Scrooge’s joy seethed. He’d always been helpless to that stare; from the moment they met, sitting at a rickety coffee table in the back of the saloon, those cool, flighty emeralds sitting in saucers of milk concealed a cunning, hungry and throat cut mind. His innocence made him ignorant, but he was a fast learner.

As Opal cooed, he grinned, spotting an up top root curled ahead. Gripping his cane, he propped his foot atop of it. He jutted his beak forward, resonating newfound confidence, the confidence of youth.

“Not so old now, am I,” he boasted. 

Goldie hummed thoughtfully. “No, not at all. I’d forgotten how almost attractive you used to be.” She stepped forward. Her beak was an inch or two away from his; his throat dried instantly. Muscles contracted painfully.

Scrooge’s blush danced on his beak. “Really?” He rasped hopefully.

Her hand fell past his chest fluff, tugging playfully before curving around Opal’s cheek. 

“Ah,” she drooled. 

Goldie flickered, then pushed. Her grip on Opal was resilient; Scrooge teetered backwards but did not fall. The carrier’s sleeves held him up right as he wobbled on the root, arms spread in a balancing act.

“Ha,” she laughed. “Young Scrooge falling for the same, old tricks.” Her eyes glittered mischief. She was ready to resume her lead, ready to leave them behind. But she was not so predictable this time. Goldie paused and suddenly lowered, pressing her cheek onto Opal’s. She inhaled deeply and sighed, shoulders rolling. “Catch Mommy if you can, sweetie.”

A spit bubble was the extent of Opal’s communication, though she smiled and laughed at the sight of her mother’s easy expression. 

Then, Goldie was off.

Scrooge’s feet planted on the smooth earth below. “Ha,” he rasped. “It is on.” He tossed his cane aside. “I haven’t felt this spry in ages,” he cackled, rushing deeper into the swamp. Opal’s squeal echoed behind them.

Webby guessed their longer legs and stronger stamina contributed to her late arrival. She missed them at the last second and found his cane abandoned. “What? No,” crestfallen, she matched the hat with the cane. Horror strangled her voice. “Your cane is part of your mystique!”

But if either heard them, her plea was forgotten under the levity of their youth. Scrooge’s back was close enough for her to see, and she saw her uncle fist pump the air as he shouted victoriously, “I love being young!”

* * *

“I’ve missed this.”

“Have you?”

Goldie wasn't sentimental. It was a fact she took pride in, but strangely, the swamp was inducing a certain sort of sentimentality in her. Either the swamp or her freshly awakened hormones were responsible. Goldie didn't know which, and she kept that thought close to her as their sprint waned into an easy trot.

She looked down at her boots. “Yeah,” she confirmed, tucking her hair back from her eyes, “I suppose. When was the last time Opal actually liked us?”

Scrooge chuckled. “She’s a baby, Goldie,” he teased, taking her tiny hand into his hand and smiling deeper at the way she squeezed his fingers, “she likes everything.”

“Yeah, but she used to like us.” Like was a strong word and said everything she didn't want to. She fell silent, unable to meet his stare, or rather, she couldn't meet the disappointment at the truth.

A sigh of frustration passed through his nostrils, but that wasn’t it. “She loves you,” he insisted awkwardly. His support in this capacity hadn’t been required in more than a decade, but they weren’t dealing with an angst ridden, rebellious teenager anymore. 

“What she said earlier -,”

“Yeah?”

She nipped at his bait, hungry for the full sentence. What was the line this time? He’d comfort her with a lie that Opal obviously didn’t mean what she said. Or possibly, her anger had gotten the best of her. Lord knew they spoke worse to each other at the pin drop of a flared temper. Had he lied, Goldie knew what she’d do. Spit on him. Laugh. Maybe cry. Most likely cry, away from his sights, but she'd take the baby and cry on her, because you could have a baby watch you cry without them knowing what was going on.

Granted, this was an improvement to the days of old where she sneered in his touch, angrily convulsing in his arms as grief poured in her veins. She was incensed at her need to be comforted. And why did she need it in the first place?

Her four year old screamed, “I hate you, Mommy!”

And why did her four year old scream such a horrible, mean thing?

Her mommy - she, Goldie - had informed Opal she would not have dessert after dinner. It was a reasonable, sensible response to Opal's less than charming artwork on her motorcycle. 

Goldie wasn’t a fool and wouldn’t be taken as one. She knew she was hard to love, and she knew she was hardened to love. Was it dread or horror that sweated cold buckets down her neck and arms the moment her excitement waned after the doctor's gender announcement? "It's a girl," he announced proudly. "A girl!"

Everyone knew the love a mother and daughter shared was unique. Had she been a boy...

“I know that too,” she murmured, shoulders rising. Unconditional love like a mother's wasn't built to be reciprocated. A child wasn't able to love a parent as fiercely as their parent loved them, and this was doubled so for a mother and daughter. This love burned brighter than a thousand suns, and never, ever, could it be extinguished. Unless it's my ma, but Goldie wasn't like her. Not anything like her. The second the first three cracks pounded against the shell, Goldie realized no matter the amount of love she bestowed onto Opal, there was no feasible way for her to return it. As a child, it wasn’t her right.

She tucked her hair again, frowning. “It doesn’t matter,” she said sharply, suddenly aggravated. But when she looked up, she saw Scrooge wasn’t standing.

She looked around, worried he'd caught the lead, but she spotted him in an adjacent position to her right. He was crouched low, hovering above Opal where she was scrawled out on her blouse, repurposed as a blanket for Scrooge’s intentions.

Concerned, she moved in, beak pursed in a tight line. “What’s going on? Is she hurt?”

“Hurt?” He snorted. “No, no, she’s jes fine,” he raised his head, giving her a pointed stare, “but dirty, yes. Seems our lass drank too much water earlier.”

Goldie snickered. “And she was so proud of herself too,” she kneeled beside him, frowning at the soiled shirt. “You’ve got anything we can use for a diaper.”

“I was hoping you did.”

“What? You expect me to have a diaper?”

“Any wipes,” he asked uselessly. “I don’t want her getting a rash.”

“I’ve got a bandanna.”

“A bandanna?” Scrooged rolled his eyes. He huffed irritably, gesturing for the fabric. “We don’t have any other options. Got any safety pins?”

She dug through her purse. “Yeah, I think,” she grunted. She handed him a soft, red bandanna. “Just don’t put it on too tightly. We don’t have any wipes or cream.”

“Yes, I know.”

Goldie stretched to see. “Be careful with the pins.”

“You want to do it?”

“Absolutely not,” she said crossly. “You know I feel about baby waste.”

He grinned, humored. "How could I forget? You couldn't potty-train her without gagging." But his jokes didn't leave him reckless. He was as careful as Goldie instructed. It was easy to slip and prick soft baby flesh accidentally; the last thing they wanted was a sobbing infant. This didn't include the fact Scrooge was prone to tears whenever Opal was, namely every shot she received during her younger years. Webby wasn't entitled to know, and he didn't want to be a position where she'd be prompted to ask.

“You are surprisingly attentive parents.”

Their heads tilted and saw the aforementioned child. She’d dressed herself in Scrooge’s hat and held his cane in an annoyed grip; her annoyance shifted to confusion at the sight below.

“I forgot about you.”

Scrooge nudged Goldie warningly.

“I mean…,” Webby tilted her head to the side. “Granny always said relationships are complicated whenever Opal came up in conversation. She'd always send cards, letters, you know. I thought it was code for 'She hates her parents.'"

“Out of the mouth of babes,” Goldie replied shrewdly.

Her retort was dismissed. The miniature Scrooge got on her knees and studied the babe. “Where did it all go wrong,” she asked.

Scrooge grimaced.

Goldie huffed.

Apparently, Bentina hadn’t taught her granddaughter the importance of tact, which was a federal offense amongst the British. Weren’t they all about tact and stuffiness? Whatever. Scrooge would entertain this. Goldie couldn't, unless she did it in her own way, and her way included inciting Bentina Beakley's fury, even though she was over a 1,000 miles away.

“I don’t know,” she said dryly. “Alcohol?”

Scrooge admonished her silently. Goldie shrugged. What was he going to do about it? Tell Miss Nosyquack the truth?

Self-reflection wasn’t exactly their forte.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Baby Opal! I love Baby Opal. Isn't she precious? As always, donaldtheduckdad's hard work continues to amaze!
> 
> Webby's lines were fun to write and come up with. She's going to be a useful if hilarious third party in this story, but other things are going on. There are things out in the swamp.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scrooge and Goldie release steam and old grievances at the worst possible time while Webby adjusts to her babysitting duties!

For a moment, Goldie thought Scrooge was joking. He'd spoken too blithely to be serious, but she'd taken note of his pulled down eyebrows, moderately drawn smirk and over eager confidence known only for occasions where he meant every word. So she disguised her stupefaction as concern and buried her need to throttle him under her need to snatch the less than one year old out of Vanderquack's custody. The problem was deeper than the child toting her only child. Opal was content. Strapped to Webby's chest identical to how she was with Scrooge, she babbled incoherently with the delight a baby was known to create.

Goldie maintained a respectable, no smothering three feet distance. She targeted Webby's back and shoulders, determining whether Scrooge's knot was lazily fastened or hastily fastened. He scoffed at at her offer to strap Opal in. Not like she hadn't strapped her in thirty minutes ago. Not like she, Goldie O'Gilt, was a master knots. _But no,_ the great Scrooge McDuck's expertise overrode everyone else's. 

“Alright," she crossed her arms, tone dismissive yet warning, "if she lands on here face, don't come crying to me."

Of course, this meant she wasn't going to be nursing two toddlers. For Scrooge's guilt would release itself in waterfalls, and Goldie didn't have the patience. 

“Webby is a perfectly capable babysitter.”

“Has she ever babysat before?”

“Well...er...not exactly, but Dewey counts.”

Goldie rolled her eyes. Best to leave it. He was dead set on having Lollipop watch Opal for whatever reason. His assiduous was hit or miss for her, sometimes charming, other times infuriating, and this time wasn’t different, except it was. At least, the baby was strapped to a semi-responsible pre-teen. Scrooge had a habit of rotating kids out. The most being consistent Donald and Della, due to their father's frequent hospital stays, but she'd take a gander and say of the options, Webby's vocabulary, fighting prowess and Beakley bred and reared childhood put her ahead of the others in childcare potential. 

“Could be worse.” She pushed an overgrown branch to the side. “We could’ve been stuck with Louie.”

“What?”

“Could be worse.” She thought quickly. “It could be that...blue one? What was his name?”

“Dewey." Scrooge said flatly. He crossed his arms, squinting at her unusually quick reply. “I’m surprised you knew which color he wears.”

“I’m surprised they’re still color coordinated.”

“It makes it easier to identify them.”

“Ah.” Goldie cocked her head to the side. She released the branch as Scrooge passed underneath it. “I suppose you know their color associations like a good uncle?”

“I suppose I do.” He winked, continuing onward. “Don’t tell Dewey. It’d take the fun out of it.”

She knew what the twinkle in his eye indicated. There wasn't a need to read deeper into it. He was curious. Goldie’s sudden interest in his family beyond sarcastic barbs was unusual. Just by the way his brow furrowed she knew he was about to size her up. If he was going to do that, then he was preparing to turn the tables. 

“So…”

“Yes…”

Fine. She’d play his game for now.

“You never told me what happened at that birthday party you and Louie attended.” He’d assumed a casual tone to conceal the argument underneath. He even went as far to roll his wrist.

Goldie eyed him suspiciously. “I’m sure the kid would’ve told you.”

“Aye, he did.”

“But…”

“I’m sure he might’ve missed some parts. He wouldn’t intentionally lie,” Scrooge stumbled, nodded guiltily and continued, “well, he’d intentionally lie, but he wasn’t that day. He said you stole the goods after he saved you.”

“I did.” She smirked without shame or guilt. “He learned a good lesson.”

“I’m sure he did.”

Goldie tried to dodge and skip over the traps. It was a matter of until he dropped the heavy hitter, and she wouldn't be able to dodge that. He measured the distance ahead, and she recognized the conflict in his stare. He was debating if Webby could pick apart their whispers, and this forced Goldie to question the nature of their conversation. Intimate? _Intimate?_ With a child in front of them in close range, the latter definitely was an option. Or was it? Her brow dived down like a flock of birds. He'd thrown her in a loop before, and she felt as dizzy as dirty laundry in a forty-five minute wash cycle.

His step slowed, falling in line with hers. When he spoke, his voice was steady, low and calm. She liked to think she was the only one able to hear him. She tried to remain inconspicuous; Lollipop was alert enough to look back to make sure they were following.

“How did you feel when he came back for his Aunt Goldie?”

His breath was hot on her neck, surprisingly comfortably. Just a slow, tickling warmth climbing up from the side into her hair. She suppressed the warmth stiffening her chest.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Best to play dumb. She didn't want to give him the satisfaction.

“I remember Louie distinctly called you what was it? Right, _Aunt_ , and you had oh, so fondly used, what was it called again?”

Goldie groaned. What had the kid told him? She’d have to teach him what to say and what not to say in the presence of others. Later. She’d do that later.

“I’m sure you’ll tell me.”

A twinkle in Scrooge’s eye told her she was more than correct. He was positively giddy at the opportunity, the opportunity she dropped in his lap. “Sharpie, right,” he hummed. “Where’d you get that from?”

“A pencil.”

“Oh?”

The nickname was a clear choice. “No need to overthink it,” she reassured him. “You’re as dull as a stubby pencil.”

She’d give fishermen a run for their money with the way she tossed bait. As she hoped, the lure turned an apex predator into prey. His scowl and glare brewed frustration. “It’s why Opal thinks you don’t love her.”

She didn’t pretend it didn’t hurt. Her eyes pinched darkly, and she smirked teasingly. The tell tale that amusement didn't brim in her irises was the shine of their surface. Like sharp, jagged rocks aimed to maim. There was no mirth in the gesture, no levity. “Found you,” she teased in a long winded drawl, walking idly beside him. “The King of the Klondike loves going for the throat.”

Cheeks red with shame and embarrassment, Scrooge winced. “I...I didn’t mean it like that." He amended quickly, steadfast and knew he sailed on treacherous waters of his own making. “All I’m saying is children need reassurance, even when they’re adults.”

“Oh?” The idea wasn’t ludicrous, but she laughed. “I didn’t know you were an expert with children.”

“I did raise her.”

"I'm pretty sure I was the one who taught her how to spell, read and write her name." Goldie snorted, rolling her eyes in a complete circle that strained her sockets. "And it isn't like I abandoned her when your favorite went missing, or I must've dreamt the tearful phone call one late night after you kicked her out eleven years ago?"

Cruel, unfair and crudely biased, Goldie knew her assessment was a little off. She hadn't been there to know what happened exactly, but what she did know mattered most to her. Her daughter sobbing into the other line, unable to get her words through. She hiccuped in between sobs, unable to get the story out, but Goldie didn't need to coax the truth out of her. She'd just walked into her living, remote in hand and turned on the television. 

Scrooge looked ahead, watching Webby. His miniature cooed and tickled Opal’s hands. He returned to Goldie, even quieter than before.

“Opal overstepped, like she always does.” He teethed each word as if he was whittling a wood stump. “She thought she knew better. She thought she could heal what was broken, but she couldn’t.”

Goldie narrowed her eyes, taking a quick chance to ensure they remained unheard. “All she asked was for you to apologize to Donny." The accusation was thick in her hiss. Her shoulder pressed into his, a little uneven due to her taller height. “And you couldn’t do that.”

“You don’t know -,”

“I don’t know anything.” She mocked. Hungrier than an orca, she went in for the kill, calculated and protective. “But I know what Opal was like before and after. She wasn’t like this, and I know she’d still defend you when it comes down to it. She already did.”

Scrooge snorted derisively. “Defend me? Is your memory fading, dear? She cut me too.”

“She cut me." Goldie pointed to her chest. "She complained about you." She fought the resentment seething on her tongue, aimed at him and her. He could be so oblivious at times, and she didn't doubt he was being honest about it. “That’s the difference.”

Scrooge would never understand that. He never could. While mothers and daughters were destined for conflict, fathers and daughters depended on a coin toss. Goldie's father rigged the game against her early on, but Scrooge and Opal played fair as long as circumstances allowed. Even today, they were luckier than they thought. 

“Opal was no more spoiled than Donald and Della.” Which meant none were spoiled. Admitting she was spoiled placed blame on him, and Scrooge rebuffed the idea that he'd raised a spoiled child. “I meant to raise an independent woman, and I like to think I succeeded.”

“You succeeded alright,” Goldie bristled anew. “The moment she rejected your fortune, your livelihood, you turned on her.” _Just as you did Donald_...she was tempted to say. She was impressed she managed to reel her tongue in at the last second.

But for them, saying what shouldn’t be spoken didn’t mean the other party was deaf to the message. Scrooge heard the message, heard it loud and clear, and the heat he boomed started to whimper.

“Scrooge -,”

“Forget it.”

Goldie frowned at his crisp response and soon sneered. “Fine,” she huffed, “let’s pretend it never happened. It is what you do best.”

Her accusation struck Scrooge as if he’d bitten in a lemon. Her smirk was vindictive, unashamed at delighting at his pain, though she doubted he understood her meaning.

“Goldie -,” he reached for her arm but suddenly cut off when his cane was tapped into his stomach.

They’d lost track of time. Webby stopped at the end of the path. Glaring at the stream below, she reprimanded them in a gesture reminiscent of her grandmother and a prudish house mother.

Obviously, they were one in the same. 

“Careful, you newly young whippersnappers. If you fall into this stream again, you could be young forever.”

“Oh no, what a terrible fate,” Goldie mocked with an eye roll and slight shimmy of her shoulders.

Webby paid her no mind. 

“Just follow me, easy,” she said with effort, stretching from one pebble to the next. Opal reached for the moss covering their surfaces, babbling quietly to herself. 

Webby said easy, but a glance at Goldie and another above spelled their definitions of easy were different. The vine’s width and length indicated its durability would last up until he released for his landing. It took Scrooge only a second to come to his decision.

Another glance at Goldie, a roll of a smirk and curl of his brow, and he stepped back before charging forward. He leaped in the air, high enough to grasp the vine and swung. A joyish delirium erupted out of his mouth as he went forward. 

Goldie gasped, then smirked. The sourdough was a showoff; that didn’t matter to him. Her knowing was a part of the plan. Deep in his actions lied the challenge, and Goldie didn’t backed down from challenges. At least, not a challenge from Scrooge McDuck.

“What are you doing,” Webby shouted, palms curled around her mouth for volume effect, “that’s dangerous!”

Goldie ran back, readying her feet and charged. “Who cares,” she ran forward, leaping to the same height. She gripped and was swinging across the stream, ankles crossed.

“I’m young and invincible,” she roared a youth’s foolish recklessness. She hadn’t thought this foolishness could or would precede an avoidable incident had she paid attention to the width, length and rotting surface of the vine she’d chosen. 

But Goldie hadn’t, and thus, the vine snapped midway.

Was she surprised to have swung one moment and to fall the next? Not exactly. Goldie was used to this windfall of triumph and failure. The problem was she lacked a method of escaping. 

The chance of snapping her back on one of the stones Webby crossed on was a worst case scenario. Best case? She’d land in the water, stung and burning due how she landed, but that’d quickly shift into another worst case scenario once an alligator saw an opportunity. 

To her relief, none of those scenarios were realized. Scrooge hadn’t checked the vine she’d chosen but saw it snap and applied momentum in her direction. Again, she was falling one moment and the next, she was clutching shoulders, broader than the ones she’d shoved an hour and a half ago. His arm, equally defined, wrapped around her waist. Together, they swung to safety on the other side.

Scrooge was a man for theatrics. He denied this, naturally, but when imposed to impress, he succumbed to hidden instincts. At the last second before their feet made contact, he released and twirled her, and she fell back into arms, dipped down. Her grip remained on his shoulders. His were locked on her waist. Her slimmer waist, she added subconsciously.

Surprise was clear in her face and gasp. “You…,” she exclaimed breathlessly, “caught me.”

Her curved his brow, a devious smirk on his beak that rivaled Cluck Gable. “Was I supposed to let you fall?”

“You did on Oak Island.” Her left hand moved from his shoulder to his whiskers. She played with the fuller, denser feathers, a low chuckle grinding in her throat.

In theory, this wasn’t completely unsound. He’d done it before. Although she used their past experience as a minor gripe, the sort of a complaint a disgruntled customer used to get an unfair refund, the fact he let her fall that one time settled on her chest like icicles on spring’s fresh mound. 

He warmed those icicles in one, fell swoop. “I guess I’m not the man I used to be.”

Heat flooded, and her cheeks weren’t limited. Her passion was made manifest within her flesh. Almost she fell for the assumption it was the Florida humidity, an understandable misconception. But humidity couldn’t amplify the feelings she possessed in that instant.

She held his cheek. Not a single wrinkle was in sight. His skin was taut, smith and unblemished; even the scars from his earliest adventures offered youthful experience. 

His confidence didn’t leave his gaze, but he’d turned soft. No, he was always soft. Softer than her anyways. She smiled, letting some of that tenderness touch her, and she closed her eyes, moving to meet him. His palm curved protectively around the back of her head. His fingers roamed across her scalp, tickling her hair follicles.

Soon, two hearts would join as one.

“Ooh, you repellant, reptilian rogue!”

Scrooge dropped her like she was an anvil. An immeasurable weight he could, theoretically, carry but wouldn't carry, and she landed on the flat Earth like a ball. Her head bounced against it, but whatever pain she might’ve felt was pushed under adrenaline. She scooted right back up as he stepped around to face their forgotten third and fourth partners. 

Webby crossed the stream unharmed, but she didn’t arrive alone. An expected sight, after all. She was carrying their most precious, beloved treasure, but the alligator was a problem. An alligator, the exact species Goldie feared would feast on her flesh, was halfway up the edge. Its claws dug into soft dirt, trying to pull itself up and would've succeeded had Webby refrained from using the cane.

“Ba! Ba! Ba!” Opal chanted angrily. Webby didn’t understand what _ba_ met, but memory served Goldie and Scrooge well. _Bad. Bad. Bad._ Her undeveloped brain properly assessed the situation and imitated her babysitter’s frustration. 

In their defense, it was cute. Opal was always cute, except for when she hatched, but Goldie was certain no babies were cute upon hatching. That was a fact of life. The good thing was Opal quickly grew into her cuteness, which later led to a short lived career of baby pageantry when Goldie signed her up for the annual Duckburg's Cutest Baby Competition. She won three years in a row. Goldie was glad she aged out at three; she didn't trust those kiddie pageants. 

Yet, seeing their infant so close to sharp teeth, claws and water where she could easily drown or get devoured or both at the same time brought upon concern. Well, more than concern. More like fear unknown and terror unsought at the very idea of sweet, baby flesh being torn apart as her cries of agony rang in their years. An overactive imagination could be a curse.

They exchanged uneasy glances.

“Ah, Webby, thanks.” Scrooge cleared his throat. “How about you give Opal to Goldie, eh? She hasn’t gotten a chance with her yet.”

Goldie didn't have Scrooge's patience or penchant for sugarcoating. "Give me my baby." Goldie started unstrapping the carrier with frenzied speed and agitation. Opal's squeals reached a new octave at the sight of Goldie, and she couldn't stop smiling at that. Her baby was happy to see her. Overjoyed, even.

“Good to see you too, Karat.” She kissed her cheek before strapping her again. The weight was comfortably familiar. 

Webby was skeptical. “You call your baby Karat? As in 24 gold Karat?”

“You know you don’t have to explain the joke.” She sighed dramatically. “Besides, this sourdough here referred to her and I quote ‘My favorite tax deductible.’”

Scrooge flashed her a glare that didn’t reach his voice. “We alternated the years we used Opal.”

“How did you manage to orchestrate that with Hortense and Quackmore?”

"I got a cut of their taxes."

Goldie squinted, impressed and yet not surprised. 

Bickering was their default coping mechanism. Their argument, their lust and other uncomfortable confrontations could fall under a petty, meaningless argument. Besides, they were too close for a child and baby to see. Awkward glances spoke to each other while Webby was none the wiser. Goldie looked away, embarrassed and unable to understand why. 

_Damn hormones._

“We better be off.” He stammered. 

Goldie latched onto the offer, agreeing shakily. “Yep, gotta find that fountain.” 

He gestured forward. She took the message and resumed the path, patting Opal’s stomach, but she paused.

“Wait.” Her adult turned infant daughter was suspiciously quiet. Experience taught Goldie quiet usually meant trouble. “Opal, what are you holding?”

At the sound of her name, Opal tilted her head up with innocently greenish blue raindrops shining brightly at Goldie. "Dabadu." She replied obliviously, raising her little hand and the little, round egg she grasped.

Scrooge came around near her shoulder. “Wait, is that a…” He trailed off. 

“Did you put that in your mouth?” She snatched the alligator egg out of Opal’s hand, tossing it back into the stream before Opal could protest.

"No!" Opal cried, cheeks reddening instantly. “Mine, Ma!”

“Don’t you sass me. Did you put this in your mouth?”

“I done, Ma!”

Goldie felt the familiar pressure of a stress migraine forming; this was the part of parenthood she'd gladly abandon. “At least we know she’s past six months." She grumbled to Scrooge. 

“What?” He picked at her sentence. “I was younger than she was when Mummy gave me my first bit of haggis.”

“You fed our six month old sheep’s bladder.”

“Just a wee bite to persuade her to eat the peas." He explained. “And what did she eat after trying haggis?”

Goldie rolled her eyes, but she smiled, a concession. “Peas were the lesser of two evils."

“Ha!” Scrooge winked. “Now, she loves peas and haggis.”

“That’s an accomplishment?”

“For a Scottish father? Absolutely.”

Conviction strengthened his accent. Goldie shook her head in response. Memory lane wasn’t ordained to eternal grievances and disappointments. It could be nice, even sweet.

For Webby, memory lane consisted of her tripping on an exposed root, landing on her stomach. Something pulled painfully in her back, and she returned to her feet, dragging herself behind at a slower pace. But Goldie and Scrooge were blind to Webby's plight, so remembering wasn't an issue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Della is probably Scrooge's favorite. He loves his kids equally, but there is something so obvious between Scrooge and Della. This doesn't bother Opal or Donald much.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scrooge and Goldie come to an understanding about life, love and riches. Webby accepts she may not be as quick footed as she thought, though she's still younger than they are. Opal regales her family in the awesomeness of a certain Japanese gaming franchise.
> 
> All the while, the swamp grows deeper and ever more dangerous.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It seems our Duck ride is coming to an end, but that is what fandom is for. So have no fear, let's enjoy the time we have and rejoice in that it happened. I'm looking forward to the DWD reboot!

Junky purses weren’t practical for an international con artist. A neat, tidy and organized purse made retrieval easier than flicking her wrist. Gum? To her left. Lipstick? In her zipper compartment. Hairpin? On the bottom right. Blood diamond dragger? In the purse's bejeweled inner core.

Being unprepared was hard to come by, and terrible risks were involved when one wasn't prepared. So naturally, Goldie O'Gilt made it a personal mission to always be prepared, and the times when being prepared was hard to come by, improvisations were used to salvage the day. But today? Today she was unprepared. She'd lost count at the times she'd been unwittingly de-aged, but she hadn't anticipated the sharp curve her mark had made. De-aged to teen parenthood? Okay. That was a problem. Her toddler was teething.

She patted Opal’s stomach calmly and grimaced when drool rolled over her knuckles. “Opal,” Goldie groaned. “Give me a break.”

“She’s teething,” Scrooge said behind her.

“I know.”

He leaned to the left, a question in his brow. “What’s she got in there?”

Goldie passed her palm over the toddler’s curly hair. Over the curliest loop, a blue, green object rotated sloppily. “Seems she’s taken my car keys,” she surmised. She lifted her purse swinging at her side. “How?”

As they walked, Goldie pondered. Her purse was infinitely deep. Its qualities were an appeal for her to have pilfered it out of a British nanny's living room, though the nanny, a fairy in her truest nature, would argue politely that was why she permitted the theft in the first place.

“I didn’t teach Opal how to safely navigate my purse until she was four.” She thought aloud. 

“Aye, haven’t you booby-trapped that thing?” His expression was more concerned than it was minutes ago.

“I did.” She scrutinized the toddler, whose argumentative babbling and subsequent sobs had shifted to content hums as she chewed. “Won’t see me complaining. She’s distracted.”

Scrooge’s laughter was like cheese on a grater, certainly not the most appetizing sound to hear, but Goldie didn’t mind. She’d grown used to his cackle and quietly relinquished the truth that to her, his cackle was a melody plucked by a harp rather than its raspy claws.

She sought him over her shoulder and found a daydreamer’s gaze staring back at her. Surprised, her heart skipped a beat, and blood bloomed on her cheeks. She discreetly pushed a dense strand of hair back.

He smiled awkwardly. A broad, toothy grin called to his youth, and Goldie fled to the night they met, when she unearthed her greatest mark amongst a pile of reprobates. He was green and didn’t know what to do or expect. That made him the perfect mark. An oblivious, ignorant and green miner in one of the most degenerate cities in the Yukon was the perfect meal for her.

“Opal’s fussy,” Webby observed, turning around with a frown. “Seems like she’s really fussy.”

Goldie stopped walking. Indeed, she was correct. Opal was fussy. Her tiny fists clenched; angry tears rolled over her round cheeks. But no sounds came out. Not a single scream.

“Aw, lassie, what’s wrong,” Scrooge cooed. “Did Mummy do it?”

“Why is it always me?” Goldie complained, annoyed at the accusation. To be fair, she often was responsible for Opal’s childhood tears, but usually for enforcing bedtimes and catching her when she tried to sneak out. “Look, no tears,” she pointed to her cheeks. “She’s fussing over something else?”

“Then what,” Scrooge asked, confused. 

“I think it’s this.”

Scrooge and Goldie jerked their attention to Webby. The second youngest of their group stood there, brushing off a blue, green miniature keychain. Her tongue stuck out in concentration. 

“Hard to get it clean without soap,” she grunted, offering the keychain back to Opal, “but I did my best.”

“Is that sanitary?”

“She nearly ate a worm, Scrooge.”

Scrooge nodded. “Fair enough,” then he grinned, “remember her first steps?”

Opal reached for the keychain happily. “Bebe,” she squealed in thanks, stuffing the green, blue keychain into her mouth. 

“Yes,” Goldie replied, taking her eyes off the toddler, “we were visiting White Agony Creek for a spell, and she fell in love with the place.”

“No, she fell in love with the gold.” Scrooge’s eyes grew bright at the memory. “Ah, I remember when she got on her wobbly feet and made her way there like she owned the place. All for a nugget of gold.”

Goldie couldn't deny the pleasantness in seeing Scrooge indulge in memories. So proud. So happy. It was different from the pride and happiness he’d let the world see. That was reserved for monetary achievements. This look was for family, and Goldie's heart fluttered in her chest at the thought.

“She was...she was mighty sore when we took it away from her.” She cocked her head to the side, smiling. “She gave us a rough three nights.”

“Good thing she was too young to remember it, aren’t ya’ me bonny bairn.”

“I doubt she’s forgotten entirely,” Goldie snorted, shifting the carrier slightly to the right, “I’m sure she’s got it in her extensive list of grievances for us to hear later.”

“She seems to like that keychain o’ yours. What is it?”

“It’s Yolkémon,” Webby supplied an answer before Goldie was able to think of a lie. “Huey’s told me about them. I think this one is called Clovesaur, plant based!”

Despite the pain in her back and her general poor disposition, Webby explained in a sprightly tone. 

“Clovesaur? Yolkémon?” Scrooge’s head tilted to the head, absolutely baffled at the word. It took him only a second to figure it out. “Ooh,” he said, the light bulb clicking off in his brain, “is this one of those pocket monsters Opal was obsessed with when she was a child?”

An acute awareness warned her to end this conversation. Quickly. “Aren’t we supposed to be searching for the fountain,” she flipped her hair, marching ahead of them, “don’t lose your eye on the prize.”

“You’re right,” Webby agreed, hobbling ahead of Goldie, frown much more pronounced. “Once we find that fountain we’ll log it into Finch’s journal and then find a way to fix the three of you.”

“Fix us?” Scrooge drew in with confusion and indignation. “We’re right as rain.”

“What about Opal?”

“We’ll fix her, naturally, but we’re as good as gold. “

“What? I thought you hated young people.” Webby glared at them suspiciously, wearing an expression Scrooge and Goldie would’ve claimed was comparable to her grandmother. “Besides, nobody stays young forever.”

She trotted along carefully, using the cane while she clasped her back in pain.

Rolling her eyes had become redundant at this point. Goldie’s brow flatlined, and she cast a sharp look at Scrooge. “Psst, let’s ditch Old Lady Vanderquack and stay young forever,” she whispered, cupping her hand to the left side of her mouth.

Scrooge’s brow rose. “Aw, we can’t leave Webby,” he gestured to the aforementioned child.

Her head was surrounded by a swarm of mosquitoes. Her left eye was swollen, an angry pink that spat on her favorite color. “Nah! A mosquito stung my eye,” she howled.

Opal didn’t pause in her chewing. “Bebe’s eye owie.”

“Right, pumpkin,” Goldie patted her head. She faced Scrooge, inhaled. What she was about to do went against their century long directory, but opportunity was opportunity. 

Goldie did not waste an opportunity. 

She faced him completely, offering her hands. When he placed his into hers, she clasped it reflexively, beating down the butterflies flying off in her chest. 

“We’ve spent our whole lives at each other’s throats, Scroogey. But what if we could do it all over again, knowing everything we know now, avoiding the same mistakes? This is our chance at a fresh start.”

One hundred and twenty-two years ago to the day Goldie sent a letter. She’d spent days constructing its introduction, body and conclusion and wasted another day and a half writing it in between shows. 

After her saloon burnt to the ground, alongside many other businesses, she sent the letter with a mountie, holding out on a weakening hope it'd reach its receiver.

It didn’t.

Obviously, had he received the letter, Scrooge would've known, and he would've returned. 

Heat slammed against her sternum, and she searched his eyes for anything to confirm her deepest desires. Fortunately, he didn't disappoint her as he did back then. A smile nearly split his face in half. “Youth is wasted on the young, but not on us,” his grip tightened around hers.

She smiled, if a little mischievously, if a little hopefully. Was this a teenage dream? Unquestionably, yes, but the more she thought about it, the less dream like it felt.

He pulled away, shaking his head. “Oh, no, no, this is ridiculous. I’m proud of my age,” he said with unnecessary force. “Being old isn’t so bad, is it?”

“I’ll get you, you noisome gnats!” Webby swung the cane maniacally at the swarm of mosquitoes. Her hand pressed protectively on her swollen eye. “Eugh, curse my kilts!”

Scrooge’s optimism dropped in an instant. “O-okay.” He grasped Goldie’s waist, pulling her close without disturbing Opal. His grin was mischievous, devious. “Let’s find that fountain, but,” he added quickly, stare narrowing as if he just remembered a very important fact, “we’ve got to find a way to change Opal back.”

Goldie slipped a groan. It was an accident, truly, but that didn't stop it from reaching their ears. At the stricken response Scrooge's smooth skin contorted to, she knew he'd suspected what she didn't want to say all along. “Oh, you can’t blame me,” she said sheepishly. “She’s cute at this age. We can’t even understand her backtalk.”

Scrooge huffed tightly. "It is tempting to have her like us again." He stepped back to smile down at Opal, still occupied with her new, favorite toy. “But it isn’t right. She’s made her own life. It isn’t right to take it from her now, and I don’t think I want to spend late nights heating up bottles and singing lullabies.”

“I was the one singing lullabies.” She smiled wryly, “At least we can hope for grandkids.”

Scrooge choked, eyes bulging. “Grandkids? I knew she may…”

"She may what?" Goldie hissed. "Is there something I don't know?"

Her crooked stare pinned him down. 

He paled, realizing he made a grievous error. “Nevermind, let’s go find that fountain.” Scrooge grasped her hand, pulling her along until they were sprinting out of sight.

“Bye bye, Bebe!” Clovesaur marbled Opal’s goodbye.

“Wait,” Webby called. “Where are you going?”

“We’re going to be young forever.” Goldie laughed triumphantly. Her hair was a flag blowing in the wind, it’s pole impaled atop victory hill. “See ya, geezer!”

More offended at the jab than the fact that they were leaving her behind, Webby called out to Goldie's back. "I'm still younger than you." Her swollen eye bulged angrily, growing a darker shade of pink.

Goldie and Scrooge’s distance bleached Webby’s frustration; she was more of a gnat than a screech. 

For Goldie, this was a pleasant snitch in her plan.

* * *

Hearts renewed for their past and future, they slowed, keeping their eyes on the water. Scrooge led them, grip tightening every second, but Goldie remembered the map. The fountain fed the stream; yet, the journal showed the path was across the stream, not further down. Goldie jerked reluctantly, and she buried her reluctance under a thoughtful grimace. Instantly, their cold sweat tingled her palm, and she reached for the journal, flipping back to the fountain’s chapter.

“Come on,” Scrooge pointed. “The fountain is upstream.”

“Biman!” 

Goldie caressed Opal’s curls. “No, sweetie, that’s a tree,” she chuckled at the toddler’s efforts to reach for something to their right. She looked in the direction, seeing only a stalwart tree strung together with black bark and leaves. 

“Goldie?”

“According to the journal, the fountain should be,” she referred to the journal, glee rising as she crossed a fallen log that doubled as a bridge.

Running ahead, she pushed aside a veil of leaves, and there, she saw it. Goldie gasped, old dreams were reborn the second the fountain revealed its splendor under a strand of sunlight. 

“The Fountain of the Foreverglades,” she breathed, gripping a branch with growing excitement. 

“Fofovase!”

“Yes, Opal, it is the fountain!”

Scrooge appeared next to them, confused. “Huh, I guess the fountain doesn’t feed the river,” he looked back to the stream. “But how did we get younger?”

Complications of the possible answer fell deaf on Goldie's ears. “Who cares,” she leapt over the branch, starting her final lap to the finish line, “let’s nab us some youth juice!”

She unbottled her canteen, pouring the remaining water onto a batch of weeds. The thought of being young eternally sent shivers of anticipation throughout her nervous system. Staying young was a goal she’d set at a young age, but not for the reasons Scrooge might’ve assumed.

She smirked to herself. “Take that Rosie,” the crude remark glimmered. She could only dream at the expression that’d arise on her face at the sight of Goldie’s youthful vitality. 

“Biman! Biman!”

Her squeaks brought Goldie back to the present. “Nugget, what is up with you and big man? I gave you Clovesaur.”

Goldie found out swiftly what her daughter meant. A brick of a man, formerly a man, slid right in front of her. She dug her feet in, sliding to an abrupt stop and shot a hand protectively around Opal. The black suit, pinstripe pants, mallet sized head and hulking physique rang alarm bells in her head. But most importantly was the burden strapped to the greyish green skinned man’s chest. 

Laughing was definitely an option she’d indulge in if she wasn’t so surprised. The creature was shriveled, deteriorated and dressed in white, shoddy clothing, even his bowl hat suffered a hole to its crown. It couldn’t be. It was impossible. Hadn’t he died? She was positive he was dead, but yet, he wasn't dead. Who was Goldie to judge? At 149 years old, she looked younger than twenty and was toting an almost one year old.

“Well, well, well, McDuck and O’Gilt. Once again, there is nothing you possess, wait,” the shriveled man stopped mid-sentence. He counted each head and noticed there was a third head he had not been anticipating. He shuddered. “What is that,” he enunciated, revulsion dripping in his tone.”

“Hi, I Purple.” Opal waved.

Jeeves raised his massive hand, and each gloved finger cracked as he waved back. 

“Jeeves, stop fraternizing with the enemy.” John snapped coldly. 

Scrooge hurried to Goldie’s side. “John Rockerduck, I thought you died ages ago.” He eyed the man with disgusted amazement.

Their questions held little value to John Rockerduck. “What in Belos’ bellows is that thing strapped to your breasts, woman?” He asked the question a second time, although he seemed to grasp an approximate understanding of the situation.

Goldie glanced down. Scrooge glanced right. “Our baby.” They answered, more offended than frustrated.

He recoiled weakly, unable to move much in his condition. “Good Lord, you reproduced,” he gagged, bile slipping out of his mouth onto Jeeve’s suit. “What a, _eugh_ , drooling thing you’ve got there. I suppose you’ve acquired that infant with hard work, like your youth?”

“You know we did,” Scrooge boasted. “Admittedly, it required much more work than we expected.”

"Y'know, I thought it'd be fun," Goldie grunted. "All we had to do was enjoy ourselves for a week or so." She pressed a hand on her lower back and stretched. "Extensive, deadly and costly, we didn't get to the good parts until we've gotten _all_ of the ingredients. Is Hera still trapped on her throne? I'm sure she is."

"I don't know." Scrooge replied. "We went to Ithaquack a year ago, and Zeus didn't mention her. Storkules certainly didn't."  
  
"Shocking." She retorted. "The battered stepson doesn't want to talk about his evil stepmother."

John cleared his throat loudly. "Pardon me?"

"Oh." 

"Right."

Scrooge groaned. "Back to you. Our apologies."

“How are you alive? You're so soft.” Goldie gawked at the prune of a duck, touching her youthfully tender cheek to emphasize her point.

“Million of dollars in experimental freezing technology.” John’s arrogance resumed. “While you two were staying young and making your progeny through _hard work_ ,” he shuddered, turning his head to the side to cast a judgmental glare, “I paid good money for my youth and legacy.”

“Hope you kept the receipts.” Goldie smirked, but her smirk turned into a grimace. "Those poor women."

"They were paid handsomely." John's necks wrinkles stiffened as he shouted. His expression quickly chastened. "As for...everything else, well, I did say experimental, but the water in the fountain will finally restore my youthful vitality.” Jeeves turned to the fountain with John’s beak tilted up.

“I gave this fella a walloping a hundred years ago.” Scrooge cracked his fists and popped his neck. “Guess it’s about time for another.”

He charged at Jeeves, punching him right on his bottom, but instead of punching tough yet malleable flesh, his fist smashed into adamantine flesh. 

“Ow!” Scrooge clutched his wrist and fist, now red with pain. His punch did nothing to stop Jeeves. But the time interval could’ve given him a chance to escape what was to come.

Jeeves merely turned around, completely unaffected and grunted. It was the last sound he made before the back of his hand aimed at Scrooge’s face.

For a dead man and a Frankenstein inspired dead man at that, Jeeves was fast. Scrooge had zero time to react. His weight turned to mash potatoes; he was worse off than a raggedy Andy doll. His back slid into the dirt, pushing down an indent all the way back to Goldie’s side.

“Scroogey,” Goldie cried. On one knee, she grasped hand while worry aged her.

“Daddy?” Opal stopped teething. Her eyes drew wide. Her brain wasn’t developed enough to understand the extent of the danger her parents had run headfirst into, but she was able to process that this was bad. She tilted her head, turning around and glared. “Ba’ man. Ba Jeeves!” Her tiny, triangle shaped tongue spat out.

John chortled. "I, John D. Rockerduck, judged by an infant? Laughable! Jeeves, laugh with me."

The reanimated man laughed stiffly, nails on a chalkboard alongside his master's weak, raspy shrills.

“Ba’ man!” She babbled incoherently. Tiny fists and feet were flung angrily. “Ug' shoes! Ug!"

"Wait, what is she saying?" John looked to Goldie. "What is she saying?"

Goldie glared. "She says your shoes are ugly."

John gasped, visibly affronted at the claim. "You embryonic emergent! I am a fashion icon. Can you see anyone pulling this enigmatic, stylish look off? At my age, no less? Certainly not. No one can. No one will ever."

Opal blew a raspberry, but an infant’s ire couldn’t deter John Rockerduck. It certainly didn't distract him long enough to forget his goal. “Jeeves, bottle that youth tonic so that I might restore my vim and vigor.” He commanded.

Jeeves clasped his master in a surprisingly gentle grip and hoisted him above the fountain. Their hard work was suddenly wasted on a classist, bourgeois nitwit. Goldie and Scrooge shared a look, then nodded. Ahead, John beheld his long awaited prize, but the glow in his stare shriveled deeper, faster than his aged skin.

“Empty,” John sputtered. His bewilderment drew in with all the entitlement known to the 2%. Still in Jeeve’s grasp, the reanimated butler swung his master to the family where his disapproval crinkled in every wrinkle on his face. 

“Who took all my youth tonic?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I knew I wanted to channel a specific scene in Disney canon, and John was the best candidate. For me, that was the funniest thing I've written in the story so far. Their banter was worth the pain over figuring out what I wanted to write.
> 
> Due to donaldtheduckdad's schedule, the illustrations will come later. She's busy with real life, so please understand, but illustrations will resume once real life calms down. 
> 
> Thanks for your patience!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rockerduck plots a counterattack. Goldie and Scrooge reach an agreement about what's best for Opal, and Opal wants to snack on the pretty flowers around. But the time nears for an inevitable return...
> 
> Their hope is they can make it better.

They knew an infant's mortality had a less than 0.001% chance of swaying John D. Rockerduck's ambitions, so Scrooge and Goldie reached an unanimous agreement. They couldn't afford their fragile cargo incurring any damage. Jeeves' ominous husk approached them, and reacting more out of instinct than premonition, Goldie quickly sidestepped, missing the bone crushing swipe by seconds. The added weight stilted her some, and she grimaced, feeling the carrier straps burn into her shoulders. She rounded around Jeeves, grateful the mass' reflex time had lengthened in death.

Her boots skidded across sticky mud. Gaining equilibrium, she booked it for the fountain. _Empty?_ Impossible. The fountain was a spring, and as the journal described, a powerful one. Lying wasn't below Rockerduck's belt and was a trait he'd mastered over a hundred years ago, but the smoking hot indentions where Jeeve's fists had meshed into the mud reassured Goldie this wasn't a part of his ploy. Gripping the fountain’s rim, she verified Rockerduck's accusation. _But how?_

Beyond the scope of her vision, grunts and hurrahs of battle bled into the air. Concern didn’t overwrite ambition. Scrooge’s survival was definite; he’d make sure of it. For now, finding out what happened to the fountain superseded anything else. Someone or something had stolen what they sought. Every substantial drop was taken, leaving faint raindrops scattered about.

How was this possible? 

“If there’s no fountain water, how did we de-age?” She asked her reflection in the puddle. “Unless, it wasn’t the river that did it.”

She searched for other possibilities. There was something she’d missed. Something she and Scrooge hadn’t accounted for. What could it be? Goldie worked her brain to make sense of this and grew annoyed at wasting time when her mark was on the line.

“A little help here!” Scrooge shouted, grunting in pain as Jeeves' grip tightened around him.

Goldie wanted to help him. She really did, but priorities were in order. While slick and dumber were distracted, she'd solve the puzzle to the the missing fountain water.

“Ah, taste that supple Italian leather, pauper!” 

“What could it be?” Goldie huffed, frustrated. “We didn’t have any other water.”

“Can you think a little faster, dear? I’m kind of in a bind here,” Scrooge groaned. The sound of supple Italian leather smacking Scrooge’s head was a sound she didn’t mind, as long as she was the one whipping the leather. 

But again, priorities. 

“Pink, Mama.” 

“Opal, honey, Mommy’s trying to figure out who stole her fountain of youth water.”

Opal heard. Mommy was busy, and that was good. Opal had found the cutest, prettiest, and most yummy looking pink flower. Her already exceptionally large eyes widened as she brought the flower's bulb to her salivating mouth.

The pretty pink petals of the tulip beneath her view caught Goldie’s attention. She frowned. Again, an inedible object was careening towards her daughter’s open mouth. Grabbing her wrist, Goldie put an end to that while she glanced to her right, back to where she poured the last of her canteen water. Then she returned to the flower bulb.

"Opal, where'd you get this?"

"Grass," she whined, annoyed she'd been deprived of another toy, again.

Her neurons frizzled at the connection. It was better than a lightbulb blinking on. Goldie gasped, fingers scratching the canteen’s surface.

“The canteen." She was breathless. “The hotel water!” She snatched the flower away, dropping it at her feet.

“Mine!” 

“Good work, nugget.” Goldie kissed her cheek with a lip smacking _muah_. “But no, flowers are not for eating.”

Opal whined. “Ma, no!”

"They make horrible teething rings too, little lady." Goldie admonished her before breaking into a sprint in the direction she assumed was closest to the hotel. He couldn’t have built it too far from its original source. She quickly began removing herself from the situation. Scrooge's shout stopped her.

“Goldie!”

 _Oh, right. Right. Right. Right._ She hadn't forgotten him. For sure, she hadn't. She did forget they were working on not betraying each other for sensual, hedonistic thrills. Healthy communication, boundaries and stuff like that. John remained focused on the source of his ire and entertainment. She scurried up back to Jeeves, reappearing on his shoulder shortly after without explanation. “Sorry,” she grinned sheepishly. “Old habit.”

“Daddy!”

In spite of the fact his lungs were being crushed by the compact pressure of his rib cage at an excruciatingly slow pace, Scrooge's grimace was forced into a smile. “Hello, Opal darling." He beamed through his strain.

He didn’t know how Goldie did it, but she reached for Jeeves’ underwear and pulled. Had he not been trapped in a zombie's clutches, Scrooge would've express admiration for the underwear's durability. It stretched over Jeeves’ head, and in surprise or confusion or embarrassment, he dropped Scrooge. 

Landing on his stomach, he didn’t have to think. Her hand reached for his, and he grabbed it, relieved at her touch. They ran off, hand in hand, grinning and smirking at their old adversaries’ inability to keep them down for long. 

* * *

They ran into the swamp’s dense foliage. John and Jeeves would catch up with them, but their head start gave them time to formulate a plan. Or as close to a plan while they improvised.

“It has to be the hotel manager.” Goldie spoke aloud. “How could I miss it? He looks just like de Leon.”

Her obliviousness wounded her pride. Such plot twists were ones she'd figure out in chapter one, but when they got down to it, their ignorance reinforced de Leon's age. Given the original tale of the fountain, their combined ages was about 75% of his over 500 years. Half of a millennia of practice went a long way.

Scrooge's thoughts had swayed. Everything Goldie spoke was true, and this was the opportune time to discuss their next moved. Yet, Scrooge's thoughts concentrated on the touch of her palm. Unable to look away, he could only think, _"She came back for me."_ An opportunity shined brightly in front of her, and she didn't take it. At the sound of his cry, well, his frustrated exclamation, she returned for him. 

Was this the fresh start she spoke of? If he was being honest, he was afraid, afraid she'd turn tail the moment things got tough. Not because she couldn't handle it, not because she didn't want to handle it but for a deeper reason he'd never been able to rightly pinpoint. In the heat of the Florida Swamp, he wanted to believe she'd fully grasped the error of her way, or the intensity their relationship thrived on, finding an alternative that wouldn't leave their hearts wounded and bleeding. Scrooge understood what they shared surpassed any and all conventional relationship standards. He’d accepted that a long time ago and had continued as the decades aged to a century.

Nonetheless, she came back for him.

Her hair flowed as they ran. He remembered the night they met. Her hair hadn't flowed then. Wasn't cut and curled right above the nape of her neck. She'd boasted shorter hair stood out amongst the women, as the style back then preferred long, gorgeous locks fashioned in complicated coils and updos. For someone as extravagant as Goldie, that was suspiciously practical. 

“How did you do it?” 

“Do what?”

Seeing her stare on him, he stammered, suddenly embarrassed. “When you snuck up on Jeeves.” He fought back the blush spreading across his beak. 

Goldie understood. Checking over her shoulder, she slowed to an easy trot. 

“Back in Warnerstock.”

“Warnerstock?” He didn’t try to hide his skepticism. “You’ve been to that banshees' bedlam?”

“That’s racist, Scrooge.” Goldie scoffed. “Besides, it was fun. Rosie always wanted to visit, so I went."

“Rosie?”

It was the adrenaline. Adrenaline always made loose lips, and loose lips sunk sips. Or let in rats that dug where they had no business digging. “Former partner." She explained quickly, dismissively, but Scrooge didn't push. “There was some old relic called Hammerspace.”

“Did you find it?”

“I did.” Goldie beamed at the memory. It was one of the rare times she’d ever admit to herself that the journey was more valuable than the prize. But it was at _the prize_ her shining moment darkened. “I lost it,” she frowned. 

“Your partner?”

She heard the grin on his voice. That teasing needle she’d more than love to smack off his face. Or kiss. Preferably without an audience.

“Partially, Rosie couldn’t have kept the damn thing if she wanted to.” Goldie smirked. “And she wanted to. I couldn’t have kept it either. Too wild. Too looney.”

“Isn’t that normal for Warnerstock?”

Goldie shook her head. “You wanted to know how I learned that move. No matter what you think, there’s are rules to the madness.” She stopped at the clearing, pulling his hand back. "All folks from the Ink Isles and their descendants have the ability, but you gotta learn the rules to make the theory into reality." She shook her head in disappointment. "Had to give the original back to its owner, some wisecracker named Bosko."

Scrooge understood what she meant. “The hotel is up ahead.”

“Do you see them?”

Jeeves was fast but not that fast. Or so they hoped. His sneak attack was a result of their negligence in scoping their area; they couldn't allow it to happen a second time. 

“We’re in the clear for now.” Goldie breathed. “Is she napping?”

“Yep.”

She smiled thinly. “I am going to miss this,” she said. “The naps. The angry babbling.”

She could feel the blush on her cheeks. It was humiliating. Could she express her feelings openly without the fear of ridicule?

“I’ll miss this too.” He squeezed back reassuringly. “But she deserves to live her life the way she wants.”

“Even if it means we’re not a part of it?”

Goldie’s question was bone crushingly bold. She faced him then, was brave enough to stare him down. 

His shoulders twitched. His mouth dried and was left agape. “I…” The defense spilled weakly. “It isn’t what she wants.”

“But she’s too stubborn to admit it, right?” She gestured to Opal. “Here is our chance to do things right by her. We can try again. We can start again. And maybe -,”

“Goldie.”

It was the softness. His softness betrayed her. Goldie froze, shocked, then her beak pursed tightly. “I know,” she sighed. “I know...I know...doing the right thing is letting her resume her normal age. I know.”

“And we -,”

“We can’t change the past but can change the present.” The taste of the lesson was too syrupy for her. “None of that matters as long as she doesn’t want to change the present.”

“And we should respect that.”

“Then why did you drag her here?”

“She’s my personal assistant.”

“But she didn’t have to be.” Goldie crossed her arms, cocking her head defiantly. Just by the faint surprise on his face, she knew she caught him. “You could’ve sent her anywhere after DeSpell’s defeat, given her any job and I know she requested an out of Duckburg placement.”

“She requested our Mouseton office.”

“See? My point? You didn’t give her a choice.”

It was Scrooge’s turn to scowl. “She had a choice, and she chose the most affordable one.”

“Living rent free with Daddy?” Goldie placed a hand on her hip and rolled her eyes. “Ah, yes, she can avoid having to pay an enormous rent while she’s stuck making sure Daddy can skip his board meetings to go treasure hunting.”

“Exactly!”

“I am in love with a thick headed idiot.” She gritted her teeth. Instead, she threw her hands in the air. “You’re worse than me. She hates you more than me, but I’m the easier target. The mom’s always the easier target!”

Goldie huffed. Her frustration scaled dangerously close to anger, and giving away their location wasn’t something she wanted to be held responsible for. “So what,” she hissed. “I’m saying don’t think you’re some paradigm of paternal adoration. Opal’s pragmatic.”

“And don’t be so modest,” Scrooge argued back. “It’s easier to say she hates you when you haven’t spoken to her in ten years.”

Glaring at each other, they could’ve stayed in that position for hours, or erupted into righteous anger at the other. How could he? How could she?

Goldie’s intestines twisted, knotted. She wasn’t going to shrink away from this. He had it easier. He always did. A daddy’s girl through and through, which was what Goldie had been betting on at the time.

A sniff, then a whimper. 

Anger dampened as the whimper accelerated into cries. “Ma, Daddy,” Opal whined. She wiggled in the carrier, upset, and tears fell past her cheeks.

Scrooge exhaled. “Aw, lassie,” he cooed, lowering to her level. “Now, now, don’t you worry, love. Mummy and Daddy are sorry for using, eh,” he chuckled weakly, “what was it Duckworth used to say?”

Goldie wanted to hang onto this feeling. The rise burning in her eyes. The air filling her lungs. But she conceded with a huff. "Fortissimo voices. We're...I'm sorry, Karat," she said soothingly. “Now, now, we’re good, aren’t we?”

Unstrapping Opal, she pressed her cheek to cheek. A sliver of tears spread on Goldie’s feathers. 

“Now, shush, we’re not upset anymore. Daddy and I will use our,” she frowned, remembering the phrase the ghostly butler would repeat during his fleshy days. “Calmer voices, kay?”

Neither Scrooge or Goldie were sure she understood what they said. Seeing her parents smiling and speaking in funny voices made her laugh. Her tears dried as she buried her face into the crook of Goldie’s neck. Goldie suppressed a grimace at the touch of Opal’s chubby, sticky fingers reaching for her hair. She knew how this went, but the sharp pull never came. Opal tugged, yes, but inquisitively, handling Goldie’s fine strands with care instead of vigorous excitement.

Her pulse accelerated, then quickly eased. “She’s sleepy,” Goldie observed, rubbing circles onto her back. “How are we going to do this?”

Scrooge shrugged. “There isn’t much we can do.” She didn’t appreciate the statement’s honesty. Comforting a cranky toddler wasn’t how she planned to spend her afternoon. 

As soon as she heard the even breathing press into her neck, Goldie gently extracted Opal off her shoulder, placing her safely back into her carrier. 

“She’s going to make us pay her therapy bills until she's forty,” she grumbled. Although she spoke with a wry tone, there was a dash of bitterness thrown in. 

Scrooge’s derisive snort couldn’t conceal the agitation in his heart. “When hasn’t she,” he retorted, staring at the napping baby. “It’s what kids do.”

Resent their parents? Hate their parents? Allow a decade long estrangement to fester into infection? Probably. Goldie had done worse, after all, but her family's dynamic was a necessity she'd acted on. The ties binding her to her original family were severed as an escape, to live here life without baggage. How could she have known baggage had a tendency of chasing you? Life worked cruelly and unfairly. Scrooge wouldn’t understand, despite his own family’s conflict she’d wisely steered clear from.

She fastened the straps tighter than ever without harming Opal. A fight was about to go down, and she couldn’t risk her falling out. 

“Alright, Scroogey,” she winked. “I’m ready to launch a complaint to the manager.”

* * *

As unusual an addition to their posse Opal was, not a single person questioned why a pair of teens were toting a baby. Goldie understood why, even if Scrooge didn't. To the world, they were late teen parents who wanted to experience spring break with their baby daughter. No one questioned the morals or ethics or dubious parenting choices of their decision. They were too busy focusing on their pleasure, on their drinks and their spring break. 

They ran inside, pushing aside guests standing idly in their way. The pool wasn’t far from where they were, and they would’ve continued running, passing the receptionist desk had the hotel manager minded his own business. Although they knew the pool business was his business, they hadn’t fully grasped how deep he was in the water.

“Checking in for spring break?”

Scrooge and Goldie slid to a harmonic stop. Their arms were cropped to their sides in a lifting position, and their glare struck the hotel manager as curiously odd for a couple of their age. 

But they were quick to shatter the illusion. “What did you do with the fountain of youth?”

Ponce de Leon’s jovial facade fell instantly. “What is it with kids figuring me out today,” he bemoaned. 

Immediately after lamenting this odd occurrence, which neither Goldie or Scrooge clued in on, a flamingo slid down the stairs bannister. He’d slept in and was horrified at it. He was wasting his precious spring break in bed instead of partying with his friends. 

He ran to the pool, hurrahing as he jumped in. His healthy, muscled physique stayed under longer than what was humanly possible. 

“Oh! The fountain water is in the pool.”

They ran to the edge, kneeling to meet their reflections in the supposedly chlorine infested water.

“But where does it go?” 

An ominous shadow cast down on them, and they turned just to find the hotel manager standing above them. In his right hand he held a canteen eerily similar to Goldie’s own, and he brought it to his lips, drinking greedily. His faded sandy brown hair flushed darkly, and the years faded away.

Goldie gagged. “Ew, gross,” she shuddered. “We drank nasty pool people juice.” She tossed her canteen into the pool. 

“I filter it,” de Leon countered. Cruelty crowned his mask. His grimace smeared into a deadly smirk. “After all, we’re a five star resort!”

Light reflected off the blade, reflecting the shock in their expressions as he swung it at their heads. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cartoon Fact: Warnerstock is a reference to "Wakko's Wish." It's the country/kingdom the Warners' are from and royal heirs to. Bosko was Warner Bros.' earliest cartoon star, and if we wanna get technical, Bosko and his girlfriend Honey are sorta, kinda, not quite Yakko, Wakko and Dot's precursors.
> 
> Interested in what YWD's potential parents look like? Check out "Wakko's Wish." I love how Yakko looks almost identical to his mom while Dot and Wakko take after their dad.
> 
> Bosko has an interesting story. He was born out of racist idealizations. He was a racist caricature of black people a.k.a a black child meant to be wearing black face, or a child wearing blackface. Idk, hard to tell but racist, obviously. What do you expect from the 1920s? Later, when he appeared in Tiny Toons (which is getting a reboot/continuation/Babs and Buster have been aged up - WHAT) his design was modified drastically to make him not...racist. He even made a cameo in Space Jam (like on a poster/flyer, but it was him!) While I can't confirm the design later developed into YWD's design, they're pretty similar. (Also, they were going to be ducks, but the creator realized the animated circuit was oversaturated with ducks.)
> 
> Point is, Goldie spent some time in a looney, animany world where she acquired a unique skillset that has come in handy every now and then. (Also, this was written LONG before Animaniacs 2020 dropped. I love obscure animation history facts, so yeah. I've loved Animaniacs since I was like six.)
> 
> As always, thank you for reading and thank you, donaldtheduckdad!

**Author's Note:**

> Lovely art @donaldtheduckdad, and thank you, Scout, for beta-reading this chapter!
> 
> I'm extremely grateful they've wanted to collaborate with me on this. So check their tumblr out. It is worth it. They love ducks and Scrooge/Goldie as much as I do.


End file.
